Pro Patria Mori
by Refur
Summary: AU. 2020. The world has been at war for 19 years, but now a new military achievement may turn the tide of battle...
1. Default Chapter

This is my first ever fanfic, so please R&R. I don't own seaQuest or any of the characters and I'm not using them to make any money. If I did own seaQuest, that episode with the 200-foot crocodile would never have happened. Enjoy!  
  
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Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"The twenty-first century. History will remember it as the century of war. If there's anyone left to remember. At first the wars were sporadic – Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria – developed nations were able to sleep easy in their beds, thinking that far away conflicts would not involve them. But it wasn't long before every nation in the world was drawn into the fight, and every man, woman and child was affected. Nations merged and split; new alliances formed; the weak were subdued; heads of state fiddled while the old world burned.  
  
It's been nineteen years since the beginning. For nineteen years I have served my country – whatever its name happened to be that day – as the war shifted and mutated. A generation has grown up knowing nothing but war. I have lost dear friends and good soldiers, and worst of all, my wife, Carol. But today is a proud day for me. Today is the day the tide of war will turn. A new ship is entering the ocean, a ship whose capabilities are way beyond anything that's been seen before. She's the most advanced piece of technology below the surface, or above it; and I should know: I designed her. She's been four years in the making, but now she's ready for her maiden voyage; and the UEO has given her to me. There'll be no fanfare – maybe in peace time a technological achievement like this would have been paraded before the world, but the UEO is very keen that no-one should know she's there. Nevertheless, rumours have been circulating for years – among the officers, she's a myth, something to give them hope. But now she's a reality, and in her lies all our hope for the future. With seaQuest on our side, I know we can win this war."  
  
  
  
Captain Nathan Hale Bridger stepped onto the bridge of his boat, and grinned. It was just as he'd imagined. Everything looked shiny and new; some of the furniture even still had plastic on it. Lights glowed and flashed on every screen. The bridge crew stood sharply to attention. Bridger stood in the middle of his bridge and glowed with pride.  
  
Some members of the crew he'd selected himself, some had been assigned by the UEO. He looked them over carefully now. First, the XO, Jonathan Ford. He was young for a commander but, Nathan mused with regret, there were few left of the more experienced generation now. Many had lost their lives in years of war. Most of this crew were hardly old enough to remember the days before the fighting began. He hoped this man made up for in skill what he lacked in experience.  
  
Next was Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock. Bridger nodded at her. She was one he'd chosen, they had worked together on his last command. She was resolute, gifted in both programming and mechanical engineering, and every inch the soldier. That was one officer Bridger didn't need to worry about.  
  
He surveyed the rest of the team. The communications officer, a young, bespectacled man, seemed frightened. Bridger tried to remember his file. He couldn't remember the name, but he recalled something about the young man having an extraordinary linguistic talent. He knew the UEO would not have assigned him if they had any doubts about his performance. Beside him, smartly to attention, stood the sensor chief, Ortiz, Bridger thought. He was grinning at someone across the room, but the grin disappeared when he felt the captain's eyes on him. Bridger smiled inwardly. It was good to see camaraderie developing so quickly amongst the crew, even better that they understood that there was a time and place for levity.  
  
Manilow Crocker, security chief, was an old friend. They had fought together on numerous occasions. Crocker was old, aged prematurely by years of war and sorrow, but Nathan needed someone with experience on his crew, and he trusted the chief implicitly.  
  
Finally, Bridger turned to the youngest member of the bridge crew. The young man stood sharply at attention, gaze directed firmly forwards. Bridger felt his heart swell with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. The boy looked so much like his mother, who was so sorely missed. He wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake assigning his own son, Robert, to the crew. The boy was only twenty-five, barely out of the academy, and although he was already a lieutenant, he had seen little combat. Bridger privately suspected that there had been more than a little sucking up in his early promotion, although, of course, he would never suggest so to his boy. He knew that his son was a capable soldier, but more than that, he wanted to keep an eye on him. And maybe he wanted something to remind him what he was fighting for.  
  
Bridger let out a satisfied sigh. "At ease," he said. As one, the crew stood down from their salute. "To your stations," Bridger commanded, and the crew obeyed. The captain sat down in his chair, removing a piece of sticky tape from the arm. "Helm, lay in a course: one-four-seven mark niner."  
  
"Aye, sir. Course one-four-seven mark niner. Course laid in sir."  
  
Bridger looked over at his XO. Ford looked tense. Bridger grinned at him. "Move out," he said. "And make as little noise as possible."  
  
The world was going to be very surprised when seaQuest came to call. 


	2. Chapter Two

Hey! Hope this was fast enough for you. Special thanks to my four reviewers, Hwi-Noree, Kiddo, KatKnits and Dolphinology. You made my day ; ). Oh, and as for Kiddo's question: patience, my precious. All will be revealed...  
  
Oh yeah, I don't own seaQuest or most of the characters in this story. You can tell by the episode with the man-eating plants. Not my style...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The sub lay at the bottom of the ocean. She was small, but well-armed. And well-hidden. On the bridge, the captain surveyed the screens.  
  
"You're sure that's her, commander?" he asked, for the third time. His XO nodded patiently.  
  
"There's no mistaking it," he replied. "Nothing else is that big. And anyway, it's following exactly the right course. There's no doubt about it: seaQuest is real. And she's coming our way."  
  
"Captain Braithwaite," An ensign looked up urgently from her computer screen, "sensors showing unidentified objects in close proximity to the sub, sir."  
  
Braithwaite frowned, his sharp features crumpling. He turned back to the XO. "What are they?"  
  
"WSKRS," the commander returned, not batting an eyelid. "They're in the plans I sent you sir." Braithwaite shrugged. He didn't have a head for figures. "They're scanning devices."  
  
"Can they see us?" Braithwaite asked sharply.  
  
"No, sir. Surprise is on our side."  
  
Braithwaite grinned. This was a big day, possibly the biggest of the whole war. "Power up weapons," he said in a satisfied tone.  
  
  
  
Communications officer Tim O'Neill sighed as he looked at his screens. It was only the first day on seaQuest and already he was wishing he'd given up the navy when he'd had a chance. After his injuries at the Aleutian Ridge engagement, they'd offered him an honourable discharge, and after five years of conflict he'd have done anything to get out of the war. But that damn conscience of his had kept speaking in the back of his mind. Democracy and freedom were threatened. Not like back in the first years of the century, but for real this time. He knew – he was a smart guy – that no-one experiences true democracy and freedom in wartime, and he wasn't old enough to remember what they felt like, but his parents had seemed pretty keen on the concept. He wondered if they were just looking back on a golden age that never was; probably, but even if they were, it must have been a damn sight better than this one. So here he was, back in the war, this time on the goddamned flagship. The seaQuest! If there was any place he was likely to be in the thick of the action, it was here. He knew he should have been flattered that he'd been assigned, and he was pleased that he'd been assigned to the same ship as Ortiz, but all the same.  
  
When he'd arrived on seaQuest the day before, Ortiz had been waiting in his quarters, grinning.  
  
"So, you're back on your feet," his friend had smiled. "God knows what they were thinking assigning you to this tin can."  
  
"Well I certainly don't," Tim had replied, frowning. Then both men had broken into smiles, and embraced.  
  
"It's good to see you're ok," Miguel had said, then, seriously, "I thought you would leave, I really did."  
  
"I thought about it," Tim admitted, "but I like navy food too much."  
  
"Lieutenant O'Neill, report," said Miguel in Captain Bridger's voice. Tim looked at him, surprised, then remembered where he was. He swallowed, hard.  
  
"Um, all systems functioning as expected sir," he stuttered. Bridger was standing right beside him, looking down at him with and odd expression on his face.  
  
"I make you nervous, don't I?" he asked. O'Neill blinked, and stared straight at his console.  
  
"Sir-" he began, but suddenly Ortiz cut in.  
  
"Sir, we have incoming!"  
  
A ripple of surprise ran around the bridge. Bridger looked up sharply, then strode from Communications over to Sensors. "How many?" he asked urgently.  
  
"Two, sir. Torpedoes. ETA two minutes."  
  
"Fire intercepts."  
  
"Intercepts away sir." There was a long, tense moment. "All targets destroyed." Bridger relaxed, and opened his mouth, but Ortiz looked up again, his face confused. "Sir, six more headed our way!"  
  
"Where are they coming from?" cried Bridger in frustration. Ortiz looked helpless.  
  
"There's nothing showing on the scans, sir. It's like they're just appearing out of nowhere."  
  
"Intercepts!"  
  
"Aye, sir. Intercepts away. All targets destroyed."  
  
They waited. There was no further activity. And then Ortiz looked up, and now his face was pale. "Sir, an electro-magnetic pulse has just knocked out the WSKRS power grid."  
  
"What?" Bridger asked, incredulous. "Where did it come from?"  
  
"Best guess," Ortiz said slowly, "they distracted us with the torpedoes while attaching electro-magnetic mines to the WSKRS. We're lucky they're on a separate power grid, sir, otherwise we'd be dead in the water."  
  
"I guess they didn't know that," Bridger said grimly. "Ortiz, find me that boat!"  
  
  
  
"WSKRS power down sir!"  
  
Braithwaite grinned. Everything was going according to plan. He turned to his sensor chief. "How many intercepts have they got left?"  
  
"Sir, this is seaQuest. We could take pot-shots at them all day, they'd still have a nuclear arsenal. We can't beat her in battle, even when she can't see us."  
  
"No," mused Braithwaite, "and we wouldn't want to damage her, either. That ship's going to win this war for the Alliance of Free States. How're you coming along with the main power, commander?" he asked, turning to his XO. The man looked up with a grim smile.  
  
"I've just about got it," he said.  
  
  
  
"I don't get it!" Bridger growled, pacing up and down. "This is supposed to be the most advanced boat in the ocean! No-one has a cloaking device that can confuse our scanners! And how come they can see us? No-one was supposed to know seaQuest even existed, let alone that she was here!"  
  
Ford shrugged his shoulders helplessly. So much for impressing the captain on his first day, he thought ruefully. This one should've been a no- brainer, but somehow things always got screwed up. "I've got Commander Hitchcock working on it sir," he said. "But you know, it may just be a coincidence. That ship out there may just be a patrol that got lucky."  
  
Bridger shot him a piercing look. "If that's so, why can't we see them?"  
  
As he spoke, the deep, purring hum that permeated the ship shuddered for a moment, than subsided into silence. The lights went off, then blinked back on, gleaming dimly. Bridger and Ford stared at each other in astonishment as Hitchcock's voice came over the com. "Sir, I think you'd better get up here..."  
  
  
  
"Status report," Braithwaite barked. He was getting uneasy; inactivity always made him nervous. He wasn't captain of the most advanced sub in the Alliance fleet just so he could hide from a fight at the bottom of the ocean. His XO looked up, a ghost of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.  
  
"The power's down, sir. All but a few systems are inoperational."  
  
Braithwaite straightened and turned back to the outside view screen. SeaQuest was dark, dead in the water. He grinned.  
  
"Good work, Commander Wolenczak." 


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own seaQuest, or any of the characters, although I did once have a model submarine.  
  
Many thanks to all my kind reviewers:  
  
Mar: don't blame me, I didn't invent the cliff-hanger; I just like exploiting it ; ) Jen: worry ye not, I don't want to reveal too much, but I hope you won't be disappointed with Lucas – or me... Diena: this is AU, but explanations of motivation will be forthcoming, no fear Sara: It's truly a pleasure to write for someone as enthusiastic as you. Hope this instalment doesn't disappoint : )  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"Damn it!" Bridger slammed his hand down on the console, making O'Neill jump. "This is ridiculous! This boat has failsafes for the coffee makers in the mess, for God's sake! How can the power be down?"  
  
Hitchcock calmly continued to manoeuvre her way through the ship's computer systems. "This is a brand-new boat, sir," she reminded her superior gently. "There are bound to be some glitches."  
  
"Oh no," Bridger straightened up. "I designed this boat. There are no glitches. I don't like this. Can you get the system back on-line?"  
  
"Working on that sir," said Hitchcock patiently. She'd worked with Bridger on a couple of missions before, and he'd always impressed her as a good captain, a great leader – a perfect military man. She sighed inwardly. That was the problem. Military men were indoctrinated from the word go to see everything in black and white. The enemy was a cardboard cut-out figure, he had to be – a soldier couldn't have crises of conscience in the heat of battle. All the same, she couldn't help wondering if the world would be different if the two-dimensional view of military men didn't prevail quite so much. The captain was so sure that there couldn't be any mistakes in his design, so sure that he was in the right. The UEO felt that a sense of humility was not an asset in their commanding officers. Hitchcock wondered if they were right.  
  
  
  
"Status report, commander," Braithwaite turned to his young XO. Wolenczak looked up from his console.  
  
"Power's still down sir. They've got someone up there nosing around the systems, though."  
  
"Can you stop him repowering the system?" Braithwaite asked. The commander looked up from his console, brushing some stray strands of hair from his face. Braithwaite had been meaning to order him to cut the hair for a while, but given the exigencies of war, it was not something he considered high priority.  
  
"Well, he's good," Wolenczak said with a serious, thoughtful expression. Then a wicked grin spread over his face. "But I'm better," he said, and, flexing his long fingers, got down to work. Braithwaite watched him with satisfaction. He was pretty young for a commander, even in the Free Nations navy. But he had more than shown his worth as a soldier since he had come on board the Freedom four years before. If the other officers resented his rapid rise through the ranks, they didn't show it – they knew Wolenczak had slept, eaten and breathed the military practically since he had first drawn breath. The special training schools had turned out some outstanding soldiers, but this boy was without doubt the pick of the bunch. Of course, his natural intelligence helped. Braithwaite briefly considered making Wolenczak captain of the Freedom once he had the seaQuest under his command. Then he changed his mind: he needed an able XO, and the boy knew the seaQuest specs better than anyone, maybe even its creator. He smiled in anticipation. This was going to be a big day.  
  


Hitchcock sat back from her console in frustration. "I'm locked out, sir."  
  
"What do you mean?" Bridger looked at her sharply. She gestured helplessly at her console.  
  
"It won't accept my access codes," she said. "Just when I was getting somewhere, too."  
  
The Captain was at the console in two strides. "Try mine," he said, keying his authorization code into the system. Angry red letters flashed up on the screen: ACCESS DENIED.  
  
"What?" Bridger exclaimed incredulously. His son watched him from across the bridge. So much for dad's brilliant submarine, he thought bitterly, then chided himself. He was sure that the glitches in the system were not his old man's fault. All the same, he couldn't help the angry feeling – twenty-five years old and still living with your parents, he thought grimly. He knew he should feel pleased: his dad hadn't been around a lot when Robert was young, and now he had an opportunity to get to know him properly. All the same, he wished his father had taken that opportunity when Robert was growing up, rather than thrusting it on him now. He knew, in a way, the old man was trying to make up for all those lost years, make up for not being there for him when his mom died; but all the same, why did he have to be so... controlling about it? What was wrong with a furlough spent together, maybe at Christmas? Why did he have to get them assigned to the same submarine? Robert had no illusions that he had been assigned to seaQuest because of his combat experience – he had practically zero, his dad had made pretty sure to keep him away from the fighting before, and he was pretty sure his rapid promotion was more to do with his family than his military ability. It wasn't that he was a bad soldier; it was just that he felt he was a mediocre one, at best. And he was going to have to do something pretty big to step out from his father's shadow and prove to the crew of this boat that he deserved his rank; especially when even he was not sure he did.  
  
He watched his father gesticulate angrily at the other end of the bridge and sighed. He wished Krieg was here. He was on the boat, of course, somewhere down in the belly of the beast, but he wanted his friend right here. Supply and morale officer he thought with a silent chuckle. Only Krieg could have a job title like that. He was pleased to know that there was at least one guy on this boat that he wouldn't have to prove himself to.  
  
They had been friends since the Academy, although Robert had never told his father about Krieg; the elder Bridger would not have approved. The two were like chalk and cheese: Krieg was gregarious, excitable, always ready with a practical joke or scam, while Robert was thoughtful, reserved, and often the unwilling foil for Krieg's wilder schemes. Their friends wondered why they got on with each other, but Robert knew that under the flighty exterior, Ben was a man who cared deeply about his chosen career, and about his friends. He would trust the man with his life, and give it up for him, if it cam to that.  
  
But Krieg was not here, and the boat's power systems were still not on- line. Robert sighed again, and tuned back in to the conversation between his father and Hitchcock.  
  
"They must have hacked into our computers," Hitchcock, was saying, frowning as she typed rapidly.  
  
"Well, hack them back out again!" Bridger snapped. Robert flinched. He knew his dad had a temper, but this anger was unreasonable. As if he'd heard his son's thought, Bridger calmed down and put his hand on the back of his commander's chair. "I'm sorry," he said. "But we need to get them out of our systems."  
  
"I'm trying sir," Hitchcock said, never taking her eyes off the screen, "but whoever they've got over there, he's pretty good. He's anticipating all my moves before I make them."  
  
Bridger nodded. "Keep trying," he said, already looking up, calculating his next move. "Mr. Ortiz," he called, "how many systems are still on-line?"  
  
Ortiz looked up from his console. "We have life-support, internal sensors, intra-ship communication and limited access to UEO databases, sir," he reported.  
  
"Good." Bridger paused for a moment, then stood up straighter. He's had an idea, thought Robert, but said nothing. "Did you get an energy signature from those torpedoes before they were destroyed?" he asked.  
  
Ortiz checked his console, typing a few commands. "Yes sir, partial only."  
  
Bridger nodded resolutely. "Good. Give them to Robert." He turned to his son. "Robert, I want you to check the UEO databases, see if you can match the signature to anything we have on record." He turned quickly away, moving on to his next order.  
  
Robert frowned as he made his way to Ortiz's console. His father had always pushed him to excel at computer programming and engineering – those skills were invaluable in the modern navy. And Robert had worked hard at it, had sweated and groaned over the manuals, had passed the tests with middling results. But he didn't feel it. He had known a few hackers at the Academy, and he knew that to succeed in computing, you had to be one with the machine – but he had never felt that way about anything except his violin. Yet another way to disappoint the old man he thought sourly, but smiled at Ortiz as the lieutenant showed him the energy signature. At least this guy was friendly, he thought.  
  
  
  
"There." Commander Wolenczak leaned back in his chair, his face unsmiling but satisfied. "That should keep them for a while."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Can you shut off the life-support systems from here?"  
  
"No sir; they're connected to the alarm system. If they're shut off by an external source, an alarm will sound in UEO headquarters. Anyway, it would be better if we could take the boat without substantial loss of life." Braithwaite looked up sharply. His XO was regarding him seriously.  
  
"Not going soft on me in your old age, Wolenczak?" he asked, surprised. The boy raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  
  
"No, sir. But we should at least give the crew a chance to come over to our side. We could use the extra men."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "We'll send an away team. Wolenczak, you'll be in charge. Take as many men as you can." He stopped as he saw the commander's face cloud. "You have something to say, commander?"  
  
"Aye, sir," Wolenczak said, frowning. "There are two hundred crew aboard that boat; even with the power down, there's no way we can overwhelm them by force. We've got to count on being smarter than them."  
  
Braithwaite raised his eyebrows. "I hear tell you're pretty smart, commander; I trust you have a plan?" he said dryly.  
  
The XO nodded curtly. "Aye sir. I can get small group of men onto the ship without alerting their sensors; once there, we can travel via the ventilation system to the bridge. I'll rig their internal sensors to register intruder alerts in different parts of the ship; with any luck, they'll send most of the crew of the bridge to investigate. I can seal off the bridge, and then we can overwhelm the remains of the bridge crew. The boat will be ours sir. Then we can give the rest of the crew the choice to come over to the Free Nations; any that refuse can easily be... eliminated."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Will it work?"  
  
Wolenczak drew in a breath. "Probably," he said. "I think it's the best we can do. Taking seaQuest is not going to be a walk in the park, even in her present condition."  
  
The captain came to a decision. "OK, commander. Go and get me my boat." Wolenczak saluted sharply and left the bridge at a swift pace. Braithwaite watched him go. "You'd better be right about this," he muttered under his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

The seaQuest isn't mine. It's quite good, really, I'm not sure where I'd put it.  
  
Many thanks to my kind reviewers Mar, pari106, Fishface12 and the ever- enthusiastic Sara. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it!  
  
Please tell me if you don't like stuff about this, I won't consider it to be a flame, honest!  
  
Everyone who doesn't want to see Lucas being on the other side from Bridger, look away...now!  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Crewman Zhao was tired. Her shift was over in – she estimated from her chronometer – approximately thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds. She sighed. It had been a long day. She'd thought seaQuest would be one of the safest places in the fleet to be, given its advanced defence systems and all, but already today, the first day wet, the power was out and there were rumours that they'd been fired on by an invisible submarine. She felt uneasy; they were like a sitting duck. She knew seaQuest's hull was built to withstand heavy damage, but without weapons systems and helm control there was only so long she would survive a sustained attack. Zhao laid the heavy crate she was carrying carefully on top of the stack in the corner and eased her aching shoulders. What the hell was lieutenant Krieg ordering in, anyway, bricks?  
  
The first thing Zhao knew of the attack was when the stack of crates in front of her was hit by a pulse from a rifle. She turned, startled, and saw to her horror six black-clad men standing in front of the open shuttle bay doors, firing in all directions. Then she felt a sudden impact in her chest, and then there was nothing.  
  
  
  
With a couple of taps on his tiny portable computer Wolenczak sealed the launch bay doors. He looked quickly around. "Over there," he directed his security team. "Through that hatch. Turn right once you get inside." He did a quick sensor sweep of the bay. No life signs apart from his own men. Good. He followed the time to the hatch way and was about to step inside when a cackling noise came from behind him, loud in the silence. He whirled, pointing his pulse rifle. But there was no-one there. Then he saw a sleek grey head above the level of the water, and a bright black eye fixed him with a very intelligent looking expression. Wolenczak stood for a moment, transfixed. Then he turned and clambered through the hatch, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
  
  
A chattering sound broke the tense silence on the bridge. Bridger reacted immediately, striding over to the pool on the port side. "Darwin," he said solicitously, "what is it?"  
  
The dolphin cackled and whistled urgently. Not for the first time, Bridger cursed the short-comings of hand-signals. Sure, the system was more advanced than any that had yet been developed, but the communication only went one way. Darwin nodded his head up and down, slapping it against the surface of the water. Bridger looked up. "Something's wrong," he said.  
  
Great, Robert Bridger thought, looking up from his fruitless computer search. We're dead in the water, under attack from an unknown enemy, the systems are locked and now the dolphin says there's something wrong. He tried to contain his bitterness, but it was hard. He had never understood what his father saw in that animal, but he knew it was enough to prevent him from coming home to his family on more than one occasion. He knew his mom had understood, had supported his work with dolphin communications, but for the life of him he couldn't see how a semi-intelligent mammal who couldn't talk back was going to be any use on the world's most powerful piece of military equipment.  
  
"Captain!" Ortiz said urgently from his station, "I'm getting reports of intruder alerts from around the ship on the internal sensors!"  
  
Bridger looked up, his face grim. "How many?"  
  
"Four, no, five," Ortiz said. "All in different areas."  
  
Bridger turned quickly. "O'Neill, get me launch bay," he said sharply. O'Neill punched a few buttons on his console and spoke into his headset.  
  
"Bridge to Launch Bay, come in Launch Bay." He waited a moment, then turned to the captain. "Nothing but static, sir."  
  
Bridger straightened. "Crocker, get a team down to Launch Bay on the double! Ford, assemble men to check out the rest of the alerts." The two men nodded and, silently directing members of the bridge crew to join their respective parties, raced off the bridge. Bridger turned back to Ortiz. "Mr. Ortiz, how the hell did anyone get on this boat without our knowing about it?"  
  
Ortiz shook his head in frustration. "The internal sensors are working sir. I don't understand it."  
  
"Well, you'd better understand it soon," Bridger said, his jaw set. "Seal off the bridge!"  
  
  
  
Wolenczak smirked as he listened to the muffled voices coming through the wall. "They're playing right into our hands," he muttered. He was crouched in a narrow ventilation duct, checking his pulse rifle charge by the eerie glow of the computer screen. "OK," he said in a low voice, looking up at his expectant team. "According to the scanners there are eleven people left on the bridge. That's two of them for each one of us," he added helpfully: the security team were all good men, but they weren't known for their intelligence. "Once we get in, go for the captain: don't kill him, just take him hostage. Once we have him, we'll be able to control the others without risk to ourselves." He turned the palm-top so that it faced the team. "This is him. His name is Nathan Bridger." The team nodded. Wolenczak hoped they were listening. Two-to-one odds were pretty standard for Free Nations assault teams, but there was more riding on this than usual. This time they had to win. "Try to avoid shooting the consoles," he continued. "We don't have time or resources to be repairing this boat in mid-ocean. Besides, I want to hand her to the captain on a platter, without defects." More nods. Blank faces. Wolenczak gritted his teeth. "OK," he whispered, "let's go."  
  
  
  
Ortiz stared at his screen in consternation. This day just keeps getting better, he thought. Still, it looked like he was lucky: whoever had done this had been distracted for long enough for him to sneak in and work out what was going on. "Sir," he looked up, "someone's feeding ghosts into the internal sensors. Those intruder alerts are false alarms."  
  
"What?!" Bridger tone was disbelieving. Immediately he flipped on his PAL. "Bridger to Ford, get back here!" He turned to Hitchcock and opened his mouth.  
  
Then two things happened at once.  
  
A ventilation shaft hatch swung open with a clunk, and a crewman fell to the deck with a cry of pain. A pulse rifle blast exploded against the wall behind Hitchcock's head. She flung herself to the ground behind the console and reached for her sidearm. The projectile weapons were not as advanced as pulse rifles, but even so, if you shot someone with one, they would be dead. She leaned carefully around the desk and saw a man wearing black exiting the hatchway. Another followed. There were at least two already in the room, from the rifle fire, but the bridge was quickly turning into a shoot-out. The crew and the intruders were squared off, hiding behind consoles on opposite sides of the room. Hitchcock saw that at least one of her side had a pulse rifle. Good.  
  
Suddenly a voice came from behind her. "Commander, can you unseal the bridge?" She turned. It was Captain Bridger, bleeding from a gash in his head.  
  
"Are you alright, captain?" she asked, worried. Bridger nodded quickly.  
  
"I need you to unseal the bridge," he said in a low voice. "Ford and the others are on their way back up here now. We need reinforcements." As he spoke, there was a cry from the other side of the room and a crewman fell, sprawling on his back. Hitchcock closed her eyes. She didn't even know his name.  
  
"Aye sir," she said, and sprang to a half-crouch. Bridger motioned for covering fire. Crewmen appeared from behind every console and began to fire. Hitchcock typed furiously. And the bridge door began to open.  
  
  
  
Wolenczak swore as he heard the bridge seal disengage. He had counted the cries: they had already lost four. He had lost none. What his men lacked in brains, they made up for in sharp shooting. But now that bitch on the other side of the room had taken advantage of a momentary lapse in his guard and managed to unseal the bridge door. He dropped his rifle and pulled his computer out of his back pocket in one smooth move. According to scanners there were ten men on the other side of that door. He didn't doubt that these were the combat team sent to check out the alerts, and he knew there was a hell of a lot more to fear from them than from the bridge officers. His fingers flew over the keys. "Get the captain!" he yelled to his men, "get the goddamned captain!"  
  
He was vaguely aware that a man had fallen beside him, but he was concentrating too hard to take much notice. He was almost there... There! The bridge was resealing. But he saw to his horror that the green dots representing life-forms were already inside the bridge. He cursed violently, shoved the computer back in his pocket and grabbed his rifle. Suddenly he realised that he was alone, that the firing had all but stopped. Where the hell was his team? He heard footsteps and shouting. They were coming in a pincer movement to take him out. Wolenczak slung the rifle round his neck, and was ready to move when a soldier barrelled into him head first around the side of the console. Without even stopping to think, he grabbed the guy's head between his palms and twisted, hard. Three was a crunch, and the man dropped, lifeless, to the floor. Wolenczak didn't stop to breathe. He flung himself into a forward roll across the floor to the next console, landing heavily on another soldier, and was on his feet in an instant, one arm pinning the man's arms to his side, the other pressing the barrel of the rifle against his chin.  
  
  
  
Robert was taken by surprise: he had thought all the attackers were gone, and was unprepared for the sudden weight landing on him from behind. Before he knew it, he found himself standing, a vice-like grip locked around his arms, a rifle muzzle burning the skin under his jaw. He saw his dad's face across the room, frozen in terror. Great, he thought, trying desperately to work through the fear in his gut, my first real combat experience and I get taken hostage. He felt hot breath against his ear, and heard a toneless voice behind him.  
  
"Drop your weapons, or he dies." 


	5. Chapter 5

I haven't bought seaQuest since last week. What, do you think I robbed a bank?  
  
May the sun never set on my reviewers, Mar, Sara, Diena and PhoenixTears. You guys make my day : )  
  
I'm already writing chapter 12, so you guys have a lot of catching up to do. Without further ado, on with the story....  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Bridger felt an icy hand grasp his insides. He dropped his gun and raised his hands, palm outwards, taking a step forward. The man holding Robert – they could see nothing of him but the top half of his face, peering over the taller man's shoulder – took a step back and jammed the rifle harder into his son's jaw.  
  
"I'm warning you," he said, but there was no emotion in his voice.  
  
"Come on," Bridger said, trying to stop his voice shaking. The rest of the bridge crew had also discarded their weapons and were standing, alert and tense, watching the stand-off. "There's no way you can fight your way out of here. Just give it up. You won't be harmed."  
  
The man took another step back. Bridger realised suddenly where he was heading. The hatch through which the attackers had come was still open, a gaping black hole in the bridge wall. I've got to stop him, he thought desperately. His son's face was impassive, but Bridger could see the terror in his eyes. He thought fast.  
  
"OK," he said in a placatory tone, palms still towards the man. "Tell us what you want. I'll see you get it." It was a desperate bid for time, but it was too late. The intruder had reached the hatch and was through it in a second, pulling Robert after him. The hatch clanged shut like a coffin lid.  
  
  
  
The first thing Wolenczak did when he got back into the duct was to fire a quick, precise bolt at the door lock, fusing the moving parts. They wouldn't get through that in a hurry, not with no power for laser cutters. Then, almost in the same, smooth movement he swung the gun up and brought the butt down on the back of his hostage's head. The kid dropped like a stone. Wolenczak nodded, satisfied that he had done as little damage as possible; there was no time for resting on his laurels, however. He had to come up with a plan. His mission had failed, today of all days. SeaQuest was still in the hands of the UEO. There was no way he could take the bridge alone, even with a hostage, a – he looked down at the young man's uniform – Lieutenant R. Bridger. He stopped. Bridger. The captain's son? he wondered. Well, it wasn't as good as the captain himself, but it wasn't bad going, he thought with a grim smile. Even so, that plan was a dead end.  
  
So what else? He couldn't leave the seaQuest as it was. Better to destroy it than leave it as a UEO boat, to wreak havoc on the Free Nations. The Alliance would be swept away like a sandcastle at high tide, maybe not immediately, but soon enough. Nothing they had could go up against even the next most sophisticated UEO boat, but up till now they'd at least always had a chance, through loyalty and sheer cunning. Now it was different.  
  
He pressed a hand against his side to try and stem the flow of blood. He didn't think they'd noticed he'd been hit. He thanked his lucky stars it had been a projectile, not a laser pulse, or he'd be dead now. All the same, the pain was threatening the edges of his mind. He set his teeth and forced himself to think. And then he had it. There was only one thing left to do.  
  
  
  
"Get my son out of there!" yelled Captain Bridger. Ford turned from the hatch and shook his head.  
  
"It won't budge," he said, sweat standing out on his brow. "He must have fused the lock. There's no way we can get it open." Failed again, Ford. The captain must be really impressed with you.  
  
"Then get the power back on-line!" Bridger turned to Hitchcock. She didn't look up, shaking he head as she continued to type.  
  
"I'm trying. This guy's really something, though. He can do things I don't even know the names for."  
  
"Well," Bridger said coldly, "I suggest you stop admiring him and find a way to stop him!"  
  
Hitchcock's fingers paused briefly. "Aye, sir," she said quietly.  
  
Bridger leaned on the back of the captain's chair and closed his eyes. He knew he was being hard on the crew, unreasonable even. But Robert... He cursed himself. The whole point of having him on seaQuest to protect him, and now on the first day... He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, took a couple of deep breaths, and straightened up. As he did so, a pleasant, electronic female voice sounded over the ship-wide system. "Warning. Life-Support system off-line. Oxygen levels dropping."  
  
  
  
"Sir, Wolenczak's on the com."  
  
Braithwaite looked up from his console, where he had been studying the seaQuest specs again. He didn't understand how his XO managed to keep all this information in his head. "Put him on-screen," he nodded.  
  
The screen at the end wall was filled with the image of the young commander's face. He looked serious, and his brow was beaded with sweat.  
  
"Commander," the captain acknowledged. "I trust you have my boat?"  
  
Wolenczak shook his head. "That's a negative, sir. The mission failed. The bridge is still in enemy hands."  
  
Braithwaite raised his eyebrows. "Continue," he said, expectantly.  
  
Wolenczak drew a breath. "I've disabled the Life-Support systems. I estimate there's about," he checked his chronometer, "45 minutes of oxygen left. I'm sending you instructions as to how to break the lock on bridge and launch bay. In an hour, all you'll need will be a tank of oxygen and you'll be able to walk right onto this boat."  
  
Braithwaite smiled. He should have known the young man would have a plan. "What about you, Commander?"  
  
Wolenczak didn't bat an eyelid. "I'm injured, sir, there's no way I can fight my way out. Anyway, I need to be on board to block their hacker's attempts to bring the systems back on-line."  
  
There was a brief pause as the implications of the statement sank in. Then Braithwaite straightened up. "Mr. Wolenczak, you are a credit to your fleet. I thank you on behalf of the Alliance of Free Nations. You may have just won us the war."  
  
His XO nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Captain. It's been an honour to serve with you, sir."  
  
Braithwaite shook his head. "The honour was all mine."  
  
For a brief moment, Wolenczak stared silently at his captain. Then he shook himself slightly. "Transmitting instructions now," he said, pressing a key.  
  
Lieutenant Simpson looked up. "Instructions received." Her voice was impassive, but Braithwaite heard the emotion beneath it.  
  
The commander nodded. "Wolenczak out." His image folded in on itself and disappeared from the screen.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite lowered his head. "A moment of silence please, for a fine soldier and good friend." He wished he could give them more, but war was no time for contemplation. Some of these crew had served with Wolenczak ever since he had come aboard the ship four years ago. They had lost so many men, friends and colleagues, but each new loss hurt just as much. And this one was going to hurt a great deal, not just his friends but his navy as well: there was no-one else in the Free Nations who even cam close to Wolenczak's level of scientific expertise. But if by his sacrifice he could win them the seaQuest... Braithwaite closed his eyes. He wasn't sure about anything any more. Was victory worth this? Was an overgrown tin can worth the life of a promising young man? Intellect told him it was; emotion said otherwise.  
  
He raised his head. "Mr. Halloran," he barked at his sensor chief, "watch that boat. If they get their power back on, I want to know immediately." Maybe the seaQuest wasn't worth Wolenczak's life, but he was damn sure he wasn't going to lose them both.  
  
  
  
"How long before oxygen levels are critical?" Bridger asked urgently. Hitchcock looked up.  
  
"We've got approximately 30 minutes before we pass out, another 15 before..." she trailed off.  
  
"Can you get round the block and get the systems back on-line in 30 minutes?"  
  
Hitchcock hunkered back down over her console. "I don't know, sir. He seems to have stopped blocking me, but I've still got to get past his defence programmes." She was already typing at speed. "I don't know if I can make it in time."  
  
"Well, you're going to have to," Bridger said grimly. He turned to Ford, who was examining one of the enemy's pulse rifles. "Well?"  
  
Ford looked up, surprise evident on his features. "Sir, it seems to be Alliance of Free Nations hardware."  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Free Nations? But they're a joke! They don't have the technology to plan this attack."  
  
Ford shrugged. "Looks like they do now, sir."  
  
"Warning, oxygen levels dropping," came the pleasant voice. Bridger ground his teeth. He was beginning to wish he hadn't programmed that damn thing. He strode to the hatch. "Do you hear that?" he yelled. "Your own crew is going to kill you. This is no time for loyalty!" There was no response.  
  
  
  
Wolenczak looked up at the captain's voice, and shook his head, grimacing in pain. Typical UEO. The idea of self-sacrifice was not in their manual. Still, he was grateful that they seemed to have no idea it was him blocking their systems. He sat back for a moment to think.  
  
The duct he was in was a pretty small space; he had sealed off all the openings to prevent them catching him, but he knew that meant the oxygen would run out here first. He briefly considered killing the young lieutenant to win himself some more time, but quickly discarded the idea. Even if he was UEO, Wolenczak had no doubt that he'd been brainwashed by their propaganda. He knew that the enemy were not demons – at least not the foot soldiers. Nobody fought this hard for a cause they didn't believe in. And anyway, what was a few more minutes here or there? It wasn't as if he had anything in particular to do, apart from bleed out. Might as well let the young man have those precious extra seconds in his dream world. He looked down at the Lieutenant, who was still unconscious on the floor, and his face softened.  
  
"Must be pretty cool to have your dad right by you every time you need him, huh?" he said softly. At that moment, a stab of pain shot through him, and he shook himself. No time for daydreams, Wolenczak. He bent over his palmtop again, but his fingers were slick with sweat, and blackness was eating at the edges of his vision. He struggled to type, but his movements were sluggish and his body wouldn't respond as he wanted it to. The whole of one side of his uniform was stiff with blood. Sweat ran into his eyes and he swept it away, irritated. All he had to do was erase the memory, and he would be home free. There was no way their hacker would get the system back on-line in time. He saw, as if through a fog, the command ERASE? flashing on his screen. His fingers were cold. He reached out for the keyboard, but it was as if he was moving through treacle.  
  
And then darkness claimed him. 


	6. Chapter 6

seaQuest is not mine. There, I've said it. Happy now?  
  
As ever, ice-cream sundaes to all my lovely reviewers, and an apology to Sara – sorry, sweetheart, my parents have come to visit and we've had a big festival here in Finland, so I haven't been able to check my email for, ooh, 24 hours, and I had no idea so many people had reviewed! It was a nice surprise though.  
  
OK, hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Please let me know if not – there's still time to change the other 5....  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Robert Bridger opened his eyes. For a moment he had no idea what was going on. He seemed to be in a narrow, dark tunnel. He could hear laboured breathing – was it his own? He stopped breathing for a moment as an experiment. No, there was definitely someone else here. He moved a hand cautiously. There was no reprisal. He tried lifting his head. For a moment the tunnel swam in the half-light, but then his vision cleared. Still nothing. The breathing didn't change. Well, now or never, he thought and sat up.  
  
He discovered immediately why his captor wasn't responding. The soldier was slumped against one wall of the tunnel, his head back, eyes closed. His face was beaded with sweat, and blood dripped from the end of one finger to a pool on the floor. Robert stared at him for a moment, taking in his kidnapper for the first time. This was just a kid! He couldn't be older than 20. He remembered the iron grip of those arms and wondered how the hell a child wound up on this kind of suicide mission. Then he noticed the tiny computer on the floor by the kid's foot. The screen was blinking, flashing one word: ERASE? Robert shot another glance at the boy: no, he was definitely out, and from the looks of it he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon. Robert reached for his PAL.  
  
  
  
"How long?" Bridger asked, a tense expression on his face.  
  
"Ten minutes," Ortiz said quietly, so as not to disturb Hitchcock. All attention on the bridge was now focussed on the lieutenant commander, as the crew stood helplessly at their dark consoles. Hitchcock was sweating freely, her hands stumbling over the keys. The pressure was getting to her. Hell, thought Ortiz, it's getting to us all. Was it getting harder to breathe, or was he just imagining it? The air felt stuffy. He looked away from Hitchcock and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a dead soldier. Not one of theirs, thankfully; all the same, Ortiz slipped down from his console and closed the man's eyes. Not that it made much difference: they would all be dead in an hour. He exchanged glances with O'Neill across the room, and felt sorry for the guy, as he always did. He couldn't remember what life had been like before he'd been friends with O'Neill. The quiet linguist seemed to complement Ortiz's sunny, outgoing disposition perfectly. Now they were going to die together, and Ortiz smiled grimly at his friend, knowing they were both appreciating the irony: they had survived worse scrapes in tubs that should have been hauled to the junkyard long before; now they were going to suffocate, but at least they would do it in style, aboard the brand-new UEO flagship.  
  
Ortiz was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of a comm link chirping. O'Neill put a hand to his headset, then turned quickly to the captain. "I've got Robert, sir." He flicked a switch, and a thin voice fell like lead through the silence.  
  
"Lieutenant Bridger to seaQuest, come in seaQuest."  
  
Bridger was across the room in two strides, and pounced on O'Neill's console. "Robert," he almost yelled, "are you OK?"  
  
There was a crackle of static, then Robert's voice came back, louder now. "Yeah, I've got a mother of a headache, but I'm fine. I don't know where I am."  
  
"Are you under attack?" Bridger asked anxiously.  
  
"No, sir. There's an enemy soldier with me – well, a kid really – but he's unconscious. He's in a pretty bad way; looks like he's been shot. And I've got a computer with," there was a brief pause, "a message file entitled 'Instructions for breaking the lock on the bridge'." Hitchcock looked up sharply.  
  
"Seven minutes," said Ortiz, quietly.  
  
"Can you follow the instructions, Robert?" Bridger said urgently.  
  
"Yeah, it looks pretty straightforward." Robert replied.  
  
"Then do it!" Bridger tried to restrain himself, but fear was twisting his gut. There was a crackle of static, then the sound of distant typing. A tense silence descended once more over the bridge. Even Hitchcock's typing had ceased now. Ortiz felt like jumping up and yelling, something, anything to break the tension.  
  
"Five minutes," he said quietly.  
  
"It's getting kind of funky in here," came Robert's voice, sounding slurred. "Hard to breathe."  
  
"Robert, just hold on," Bridger said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Follow the instructions."  
  
At the three minute warning Ortiz saw O'Neill cross himself and begin to pray. What an irony, he thought, though his mind was sluggish now and thinking was a bit like dreaming. Here he was, a bona-fide Cuban, and O'Neill was the only Catholic on the bridge. Figured. Maybe that's why he got on so well with the guy. He realised his thinking that had taken a whole minute.  
  
"Two minutes."  
  
"How are you doing Robert," asked Bridger in a hushed voice.  
  
"Can't tell whether this is a two or a seven," came Robert's muttered tone. "Is it getting darker?" Bridger felt tears come to his eyes. Behind him Ortiz's quiet voice intoned once more.  
  
"One minute."  
  
O'Neill was vaguely staring at the black spots in front of his eyes. He became aware that the lights were back on. Then, more importantly, he became aware that he could breathe. At first he stayed where he was, leaning back on his chair, sucking in great, delicious gulps of air. He was alive. He hoped every day on seaQuest wasn't going to be like this.  
  
  
  
Bridger shoulders sagged as the lights came back on. He felt as if all the strength had gone out of his legs, but he stayed standing, resolute. No show of weakness before the crew could be tolerated in a UEO captain. For a moment he pressed his hands together to control their shaking, and tried to banish the image of his only son being held hostage from the inside of his eyelids. Then he turned smartly on his heel and yelled, "Get me a laser cutter up here! Let's get the lieutenant out of that hole!"  
  
  
  
"Sir," Sensor Chief Halloran's voice broke the expectant silence on the bridge of the Freedom. "The seaQuest has regained all power." His voice sounded confused, worried. Braithwaite raised his head.  
  
"Signs of life?"  
  
"Registering 208, sir."  
  
Braithwaite closed his eyes for a moment. "Wolenczak?" he asked, tensely. Halloran keyed a command into his console.  
  
"Still alive sir."  
  
Braithwaite took a deep breath. Damn it, he thought, I've lost them both. He knew there was no way his sub could go up against seaQuest now, even with the stealth systems operational. They had lost the element of surprise. And he had lost his best officer. But he knew there was worse to come.  
  
"Simpson, can you get me a secure line to Admiral Nikita that won't show up on seaQuest's scanners?"  
  
His communications officer looked up, and he saw from her eyes that she, at least, understood the implications of the situation. "Aye, sir. But it'll take some time."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Do it."  
  
  
  
Dr. Kristen Westphalen was waiting tensely outside the bridge doors when they finally opened. Seemingly unphased by the close brush with death, she strode through immediately, her face set. She had already visited the launch bay, and although there had been plenty of fighting on board the boat today, so far she had no patients: all of the launch bay crew were dead. Seven men and women, she thought bitterly, and every one of them had a mother. She wondered if the men in suits that ruled the different factions in this war truly had any idea of the consequences of their actions.  
  
A scene of carnage greeted her on the bridge. She counted at least ten bodies, some in the navy blue seaQuest uniforms, other dressed in black. The rest of the crew were struggling to their feet, looking dazed. All but the captain, who stood on the higher level, surveying the scene. Kristen watched him from the corner of her eye while she knelt to check the pulse of a fallen soldier. He wasn't especially tall, but what he lacked in stature he certainly made up for in presence. His bearing was erect, military. She felt oddly reassured by his presence, and scolded herself. Dear me, Kristen, that won't do at all. The safest place to be in this war is most likely as far away from that man as possible.  
  
Her patient was dead. She sighed deeply and moved to the next body. She heard one of the crew, a handsome, black-eyed Hispanic man, report to the captain.  
  
"Sir, I've managed to isolate the signal that shut off the life-support. You're not going to believe this, captain." The captain inclined his head towards the young man and raised his eyebrows. The man gestured in the direction of the starboard wall of the bridge, where a group of men were now setting up some heavy looking equipment. "It came from in there, sir."  
  
  
  
Bridger stood stock still for a moment, absorbing the information that his sensor chief had just given him. So, he thought, he was here all along. He felt slightly nauseous. Robert had been in even worse danger than he realised. But now... Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If this guy really was the one who'd hacked into seaQuest's systems, then he would probably know the details of the enemy sub's cloaking technology. The crewmen activated the laser cutter and the air was suddenly filled with high pitched whining and grating. Bridger jerked out of his reverie and noticed for the first time the presence of the medical team on the bridge. He hadn't got around to introducing himself to the ship's doctor before the power had shut down; now he appraised her silently and she knelt beside one of the enemy soldiers. She was a handsome middle-aged woman with a face that looked as though it usually wore a kind expression. Right now, however, her jaw was set and her eyes were flashing with anger. Bridger felt himself somewhat taken aback by the intensity of emotion displayed on her features. But then, he thought, we have just all come through a near death experience.  
  
The laser cutter was almost finished. He crossed to where the doctor was straightening up, dusting off her knees.  
  
"Doctor Westphalen, I presume," he said lightly, smiling at her. She turned and regarded him steadily, unsmiling.  
  
"Captain Bridger," she said evenly. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for any of these crewmen."  
  
Bridger sighed. "Well, if you don't mind, doctor, we have one more patient for you to attend to. My son Robert." He gestured at the group of crewmen clustered around the laser cutter, who were now carefully removing a section of the bridge wall. Westphalen nodded, and made her way over to the group. Bridger followed her. A moment later, Robert's face appeared in the opening, looking pale and sweaty, but definitely alive. Bridger felt relief wash through every limb. He stepped forward to help Robert through the hole, then embraced him warmly. He stepped back and surveyed his son carefully.  
  
"How do you feel?" he asked, trying to conceal the anxiety he felt. Robert smiled weakly and rubbed his head.  
  
"I think I passed out for a while," he said. "It was pretty hard to breathe in there. And I've got a lump on my head the size of an egg. But I think I'll be OK."  
  
At that point Westphalen stepped forward and carefully examined Robert's head with her fingers. She nodded, "I'd like you to come down to Med Bay with me so I can examine you properly," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "I've found self-diagnosis to have a poor success rate among professional soldiers." Robert smiled sheepishly.  
  
"Of course, doctor," he said obediently. He turned to accompany the doctor from the bridge, then said with a frown, "What about the other guy?"  
  
Westphalen looked confused. "Other guy?"  
  
Robert gestured back at the opening. "The kid. I mean," he quailed under his father's stern gaze, "the enemy combatant. He's pretty beat up."  
  
For one moment Westphalen shot an astonished glance at Captain Bridger, then darted forward and began to climb into the ventilation shaft. Bridger stepped forward to restrain her. "Doctor!" he said sharply, "that man is dangerous!"  
  
"Nonsense," the doctor's voice echoed back from the shaft, sounding more than slightly indignant. "This man is unconscious. And in need of urgent medical attention. Get me a gurney over here now!"  
  
  
  
Westphalen was clambering out of the opening in the tunnel and starting after the gurney carrying the injured man when she felt a restraining hand on her arm. She looked up angrily. It was the captain.  
  
"Doctor," he said seriously, "I think I should tell you that you put your life at serious risk back there. You could have been killed, blundering in there like that before we could properly assess the situation."  
  
Westphalen drew up herself up to her full height and glared at the captain. He flinched slightly under her furious gaze. "Captain," she said, her voice dangerous, "I think I should tell you that I took a vow to protect all life, and though military men like you might think it appropriate to send a child like that on a dangerous mission, even to let him bleed to death while you 'assess the situation', I do not, and cannot, countenance such behaviour."  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows, trying to appear unphased. In reality, he was unprepared for the full force of the doctor's censure. "This is war, doctor. It is not about individual life and death. We are fighting for peace and freedom for all children. You knew that when you signed up."  
  
The doctor looked utterly disgusted. "I didn't sign up, captain, I was drafted. And I may have to obey your commands, but I don't have to listen to your glib clichés. I have a patient to attend to, so if you'll kindly allow me to do my job?" Bridger, feeling like nothing as much as a scolded child, released his grip on the woman's arm. She stormed off the bridge. Bridger looked after her in confusion. Well, he thought, that was a good start. Can this day get any better, I wonder? 


	7. Chapter 7

Aaargh... no... stop... ok, ok....seaQuest.... not mine.... now leave me alone....  
  
They took lemons and made lemonade... They constructed a silk purse from a sow's ear... Yes, that's right! It's the reviewers!!! Many thanks to all the troupe, and since I forgot to namecheck last time, here's the list: ano, lo, Teresa, sara (x3!), Katknits (x2), pari106 (x2), dolphinology, Diena, Fiona and Mar. You people are so great, you should all run for president : )  
  
Well, here goes nothing...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Robert Bridger stifled a laugh. "You're going to get thrown out of here if you're not careful, Ben," he said in a low voice. Lieutenant Benjamin Krieg shot a quick look over his shoulder at the doctor, who was working at a microscope on the other side of Med Bay. He shrugged, and grinned.  
  
"Hey, laughter is the best medicine. Speaking of which, do you think I can palm something to pep up the menu in the mess?" Robert rolled his eyes and groaned; Krieg's good humour was infectious, it always had been, but the younger man sometimes felt his friend went a little too far. He was about to tell him so, but by this time Krieg was engaged in examining the silent figure lying in the next bed. The young soldier was hooked up to various drips and machines, and his face was very pale.  
  
"So," Krieg said in a serious voice, "this is the face of the enemy, the scourge of the seaQuest, devil in disguise. I'm pretty scared, I can tell you." He glanced at Robert over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. Westphalen was coming over now, and Krieg flashed her a smile, turning on the charm. "Doctor," he bowed low. "How does it feel to know you've saved the life of the most dangerous man in the ocean?" The doctor's face looked disapproving, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. Krieg gestured at the restraints that bound the injured man to the table. "Are those really necessary? What are we afraid he's going to do? Hit us with his rattle?" Robert snorted. By contrast, a rather less amused voice came from the doorway.  
  
"May I remind you, Lieutenant, that that man attempted to wipe out all life on this boat, including the lives of everyone in this room?" Robert turned, startled. It was his father. Krieg straightened up to attention immediately. Bridger strode into the room and surveyed him carefully.  
  
"Do you find this situation amusing, Lieutenant..." Bridger checked the name tag, "Krieg."  
  
"No sir." Krieg answered quickly. Bridger looked him up and down once more, then nodded.  
  
"Dismissed," he said curtly. Krieg gratefully left the room, shooting a sympathetic glance at Robert on the way out. Robert sent him a shrug and a rueful smile. Bridger turned to the doctor.  
  
"How is my son?" Robert shifted uncomfortably. Westphalen shot him a kind smile.  
  
"I'd like to keep him here overnight, just for observation," she said. The captain nodded.  
  
"And your other patient?"  
  
Westphalen turned and looked at the young man on the second bed. The heart monitor beeped softly in the silence.  
  
"He lost a lot of blood, but he'll live," she said finally, turning back to the captain. "The poor mite," she added in an undertone.  
  
Bridger frowned. "Doctor, this is a trained killer!" He said in an incredulous tone, waving his arm towards the bed. "Thirteen of my crew are dead, and this man killed several of them personally, at least one with his bare hands! Furthermore, if he hadn't been stopped he would have wiped out the whole crew! I fail to understand how you can be so sympathetic towards him, given your views on the sanctity of life."  
  
Westphalen stiffened, and her eyes flashed. Robert found himself cringing involuntarily. "According to my scans, this boy is approximately sixteen years old," she said, her voice steely. "In the UEO, captain, we do not consider a person to be an adult until he reaches eighteen. We do not consider children to bear complete responsibility for their actions. We certainly do not permit them to enlist in the military and put their lives in danger, nor do we send them on suicide missions. Perhaps you have forgotten these moral standards; they are part and parcel of the freedom of which you spoke so highly on the bridge, when you reprimanded for saving this child's life. Given that, I think you would do well to refresh your memory!"  
  
With that, she turned and exited the room like a thunderstorm. Bridger stared after her, open-mouthed, then turned his disbelieving gaze on Robert. Robert tried not to grin. I don't think anyone's ever spoken to dad that way before, he thought, relishing the extraordinary look on his father's face. Bridger finally shut his mouth.  
  
"Well," he said, shaking his head, "I think this is going to be an interesting tour."  
  
  
  
Westphalen was fuming inwardly as she stalked through the corridors. She knew she shouldn't have left her post in Med Bay, but she couldn't stand another minute of being in the same room as that... that... man. She wasn't sure exactly what it was about him that made her so angry. In the circumstances, she conceded, she could hardly blame him for being a little resentful towards the boy. Yes, he was pig-headed and militaristic, but it didn't explain the extremity of her reaction to him. She arrived finally at the moon pool, and sat down on the side of the pool, trying to calm down.  
  
She had always had problems containing her temper. As she had grown older, she had become more adept at channelling the energy anger gave her into her work instead of fruitless, frustrating arguments. She knew that at her previous positions, before the UEO had drafted her into the navy, she had gained a reputation as being someone it was wise not to cross. This had always suited her well, although she had occasionally regretted the distance it placed between her and some of her subordinates. But to speak that way to the captain of the ship, twice, on the first day no less... She dug within herself for some regret, but came up dry. He had it coming. You'd think a father would be more sensitive to the needs of children.  
  
She smiled as Darwin's head appeared above the surface of the water. She had wasted no time once on board in getting to know the boat's only non- human occupant. The idea of having a boat which could support marine mammals as well as humans was a fascinating one, and she hoped she would have time to do some research on the nature of the relationship between the dolphin and the humans on board. She had heard that the captain had even developed a fairly complex sign-language for communicating with the animal, and she had read his work in scientific journals, of course.  
  
She sighed. Maybe that was what upset her so much about Bridger's reactions to their uninvited guest. She had heard a great deal about the man before she had come aboard seaQuest, and the prospect of working with him had done a great deal to soften the blow of being forced into the navy. But he seemed so... harsh, so military, not at all like she expected him. She reminded herself that he was, after all, a navy captain, but that first moment seeing him in uniform on the bridge had brought a welter of conflicting emotions. She had always had a natural distrust of men in uniforms, even more so since joining the navy. But there was something about this man that drew her to him – and that upset her even more. She hated to feel that she was not in control of her own emotions.  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, she got to her feet. There was only so long she could get away with neglecting her duties, and though the young lieutenant was not in any danger, she was not convinced that his fellow patient was out of the woods.  
  
  
  
When Kristen Westphalen returned to Med Bay she found the younger Bridger sitting up in bed, looking bored. She smiled at him.  
  
"Feeling better?"  
  
The lieutenant looked up at her, startled. He looked slightly worried for a moment. "Don't worry," Kristen said with a smile, "I'm not going to eat you." Robert relaxed and grinned.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "That was quite a display you put on there."  
  
"I'm sorry you had to be a witness to that," Kristen said regretfully. Robert's grin broadened.  
  
"Don't be sorry," he said with a chuckle. "It was even more entertaining that Krieg." Westphalen smiled, and began to busy herself checking the condition of Med Bay's other patient. After a while, she noticed Robert staring at the boy. She stopped what she was doing.  
  
"Are you afraid of him?" she asked gently. Robert shook his head, seemingly mesmerised by the boy's face.  
  
"No. I'm not even angry. I know I should be, but," he looked up at Westphalen, and his eyes were filled with compassion, "he's so young. It doesn't seem like he could've planned all this," he gestured vaguely. "I feel... I don't know," he finished lamely.  
  
Westphalen nodded slowly. "It's a shame your father doesn't feel the same way," she said with a trace of bitterness. Robert's face clouded slightly. Westphalen turned so that she was facing him directly. "He must be very proud of you," she said in a kind voice. Robert mouth twisted slightly, but he shrugged.  
  
"I suppose so," he muttered indifferently. But he didn't sound like he meant it.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite stood to attention as the image of a grey-haired, tired looking man appeared on screen. The man examined him for a moment without speaking. Braithwaite felt his collar becoming too tight. Finally, sounding dispirited, the admiral spoke.  
  
"I take it you have not succeeded in capturing the seaQuest."  
  
Braithwaite swallowed, hard. The admiral always seemed to know what the men in his command were going to say before they said it. He fell back on all his years of military training to bury his disappointment and shame.  
  
"That's correct sir," he started, and watched a flicker of emotion cross the admiral's worn features. "And I'm afraid that's not all." He took a deep breath. "Commander Wolenczak has been taken prisoner by the UEO."  
  
There was silence for a moment. Then Nikita shook his head. "Then you know what you have to do, Captain."  
  
Braithwaite squared his shoulders. "Sir, permission to attempt a rescue mission."  
  
The admiral sighed. "Captain, you know the Free Nations policy on this matter as well as I do..."  
  
"I do, sir," Braithwaite broke in, "but Wolenczak is a great asset to our fleet. He knows more about our technology than anyone..." he trailed off.  
  
Nikita looked suddenly sad. "Don't you think I know that, Captain?" he asked gently. "All the more reason that we cannot let him fall into enemy hands. I know it is always hard to lose a member of one's crew, but remember, the commander agreed to the implant, just like you and I did." He regarded Braithwaite with sorrowful eyes. "What would you rather have him suffer?" he asked. "Torture and humiliation, or an honourable death?"  
  
Braithwaite's shoulders sagged. He knew Nikita was right. What chance did he have to rescue Wolenczak anyway? "Aye, sir," he said in a low voice.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite crossed his cabin to an unmarked cupboard. The door was locked, with both a key and a code lock. Inside it was lined with small drawers. The label on the top left drawer read "Captain A.G. Braithwaite". The next along read "Commander L. D. Wolenczak". Braithwaite unlocked this drawer and removed a small black cube from it. The cube was unadorned save for a single red button and a steadily glowing orange light. Braithwaite's finger hovered over the button. He raised his eyes to heaven. "I'm sorry, Lucas," he whispered, then pressed down. The light blinked once, then went out. 


	8. Chapter 8

Errr... seaQuest? Is that that big metal boat-thingy in the garage? No, no, that's not mine. I'm just borrowing it. I'll put it back where I found it, honest!  
  
Love 'n' hugs to the panel of experts: bbclarky, sara, ano, PhoenixTears80, Mar, pari106 and KatKnits00, and special respec' to pari106 for the heads- up about the rather embarrassing disappearance of chapter 1 into the ether....  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Captain Bridger sighed and scratched his head. "I have no idea, Bill," he said helplessly.  
  
"Well that's not going to cut the mustard with the Secretary-General, I'm afraid Nathan," the kindly face of his old friend Admiral Bill Noyce watched him from the vid screen with a worried expression. "A ship with technology that can outwit seaQuest's sensors? That's not something we can allow to roam around the oceans without so much as a by-your-leave. You have to find out how they did it, and fix it, fast. We can't risk that sub coming round for another pass."  
  
Bridger nodded. "I understand the rationale, I just don't understand how we're going to do it," he said hopelessly. "I've had half the crew searching the internex ever since the power came back on, but so far we haven't come up with a peep about this technology. We've tried hacking into the Free Nations' systems, but they have hardly anything on-line. To be honest, I'm hard-pressed to believe that it really was them behind this attack."  
  
The admiral shrugged. "So are we all, Nathan, but at the moment it's the only evidence we've got to go on. Nobody knew about seaQuest, not even UEO citizens; they could have hidden this boat just as well."  
  
"You're forgetting something, Bill," Bridger said. The admiral raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Somebody did know about seaQuest. And I'm going to find out how."  
  
  
  
Moments after he had finished his call with Admiral Noyce, Bridger was startled by a furious knocking at the door. Before he had a chance to answer, the hatch burst open and the diminutive ship's doctor whirled in, face incandescent with rage. Oh great, thought Bridger, here we go again. He had been regretting his previous encounters with the doctor and hoping that next time they could smooth things out; however, it did not seem like the scene was set for a peaceful reconciliation.  
  
"Look at this!" Westphalen hissed, extending an arm towards him. In the flat of her hand rested a petri dish, and in that were what looked like two halves of a hollow metal sphere, about the size of a pea, and a few drops of clear liquid.  
  
"What is it?" Bridger asked, puzzled.  
  
"Cyanide," Westphalen said, as if that explained everything. "I know there are some ruthless people out there, but this truly makes me sick!"  
  
"Doctor," Bridger said, palms outward in a gesture not unlike the one he had used to try and placate his son's captor on the bridge earlier, "please, slow down. Sit down. Start from the beginning."  
  
For a moment Westphalen looked mutinous, but then she gave in and sat down. She placed the petri dish on the table.  
  
"I removed a spherical metal object from the boy's shoulder at the same time as removing the bullet," she started in a barely controlled voice. "I had it scanned for explosives, but nothing came up. All I was sure of was that it had not come to be there by accident: it was surgically implanted."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Bridger broke in. Westphalen's face twitched.  
  
"Circumstances... got in the way," she replied. You can say that again, Bridger thought, but said nothing. Westphalen continued. "I was examining the object a few minutes ago in Med Bay when it suddenly split in two, releasing this liquid from inside. I tested the liquid and found it to be cyanide."  
  
Bridger sat for a moment, digesting what he'd heard. "Conclusions, Doctor," he said finally.  
  
She drew a deep breath. "The object was designed to allow a third party to kill a soldier in the event of capture," she said in a cold voice. "It was remote-activated, most likely by a member of the boy's crew."  
  
Bridger nodded slowly. "To prevent information falling into the wrong hands," he added. Who would do that to a child?, he found himself thinking, and quickly reminded himself of the faces and names of his dead crew.  
  
"Whoever this man's commanders are," he said, placing a light emphasis on the word 'man' which did not go unnoticed, "they play for keeps."  
  
  
  
Wolenczak fought his way up through layers of drifting blackness. There was pain up there, and memory, but he did not relish the idea of staying forever in the dark embrace of forgetfulness. He wanted to know, to understand; to remember, not to forget. But when the black gave way to red and pain throbbed in every blood vessel, he wondered if he had made the right choice.  
  
He didn't open his eyes. Not yet. He didn't want them to know he was awake before he had full control over himself. He pressed down the fingers of darkness that still threatened, and tried to remember what happened. Somehow, they must have broken the bridge lock, because he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. He became aware that restraints were attached to his wrists and ankles. That was it, then. Captured. You failed again, Wolenczak, he reprimanded himself. You won't get a third shot.  
  
  
  
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V."  
  
Bridger sighed. "That's not going to get you very far," he said. The prisoner – Wolenczak – regarded him with intense blue eyes. His face was cold, devoid of emotion. Awake, he looked a lot older than sixteen.  
  
Bridger leaned forward over the table. Westphalen had refused to allow them to interrogate the prisoner while he was still recuperating, and so he had been waiting, wasting precious days, until finally he could wait no more. In that time, the prisoner had not been allowed to talk to any member of crew, nor had he shown any signs of wanting to do so. He was showing little more sign of it now.  
  
"What confederation are you from?" Bridger asked. This provoked exactly zero reaction. The boy's face was like a wall. Now I'm thinking of him as 'the boy' as well, Bridger thought grouchily. Next thing you know I'll be tucking him in at night. Fat chance. Over the last few days he had had to inform all the families of the dead crew of their loss.  
  
"How did you get the technology to elude seaQuest's sensors?" Bridger asked. Still nothing. He wondered if the kid was even awake. Beside him, Ford leaned forward.  
  
"What is the name of your commanding officer?" he asked. The prisoner turned to look at him, and opened his mouth.  
  
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V," he said.  
  
  
  
Ford stormed out of the interrogation room. "He's lying, sir," he said bluntly.  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"  
  
Ford shook his head. "No-one that young could be a commander. No way. He's not even old enough to be an ensign! Hell, he's not even old enough to enlist!"  
  
Bridger stared at him for a moment. Ford felt beads of sweat begin to form behind his ears. "You're not here to compete, Commander," the captain said finally, and Ford felt himself flush in humiliation, and hoped against hope that his dark skin would hide the tell-tale signs.  
  
"I'm not competing sir, it's just..." Just what, he asked himself. What is it really about this kid that pisses you off? Ford wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but it came anyway. He beat you. He made you look incompetent in front of the captain. Let's face it, you were incompetent. You should have stopped those commandoes before they got to the bridge. So far, you've done nothing on this boat to merit the captain's favour. And now you can't even rely on your precociousness any more. He had always hoped that he would be assessed by his deeds, not just his early attainment of high rank. But now he felt like a safety net had been ripped out from under him. Careful what you wish for.  
  
Bridger broke into his reverie, and his voice was kinder now. "Commander, if this Wolenczak really is from the Alliance of Free Nations, it's possible he's a commander. They're notorious for their early recruitment system. If I were you, I'd recall that being a commander in a rag-tag army under a tyrannical regime is not the same as being a commander in the UEO. And I'd get some rest," he added. "We've all been under a lot of stress lately."  
  
Bridger watched Ford's rigid back retreating down the corridor, and sighed. You're a good officer Jonathan, he thought to himself. You've just got to believe in yourself.  
  
  
  
"What have we got?" Bridger asked, placing his palms flat on the Ward Room table and leaning forward. O'Neill looked nervous; Hitchcock pushed a thick file forward on the table.  
  
"This is the only information we have that connects the name 'Wolenczak' to the Free Nations," she said, unsmiling. Bridger opened the cover.  
  
"Lawrence Wolenczak?" he asked, surprised. "But he was one of ours."  
  
"That's right, sir," O'Neill said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "He was one of our leading scientists, specialising in submarine technology. Until he was murdered."  
  
Bridger looked shocked. "Murdered?" he asked, incredulously. "I thought he retired?"  
  
"So did we," Hitchcock nodded. "It seems the UEO wanted us to think that, maybe so as not to scare their other scientists. But we found the real story, after a lot of digging."  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Which is?"  
  
O'Neill took a deep breath. "Wolenczak disappeared in 2005, shortly after the UEO was formed," he said. "His family disappeared too. Six months later, his body and his wife's were found. They had been..." O'Neill swallowed, "tortured. It was assumed that a rival confederation had tried to get Dr. Wolenczak to work for them. When he refused, they killed him."  
  
Bridger stood up straight and folded his arms. "If Wolenczak is dead, what does this have to do with our prisoner? Do you think he's trying to steal his identity?"  
  
"No sir, not exactly," Hitchcock exchanged glances with O'Neill. "The Wolenczaks had a year-old son when they were kidnapped. He was never found. It was assumed that the kidnappers had killed him too, but now..."  
  
Bridger sucked in his breath. "You think this kid might be Wolenczak's son?"  
  
O'Neill nodded, licking his lips. "The dates fit, sir. And if he is..."  
  
Hitchcock finished his sentence. "If that man in the brig is Lawrence Wolenczak's son, that means he's UEO." 


	9. Chapter 9

seaQuest is not mine. Don't you guys ever get bored of hearing that?  
  
A thousand salaams to all you wonderful reviewers out there: ano, bbclarky, pari106, PhoenixTears80, sara, Pheniox-Skye and Mar. To know you guys are enjoying it makes it all worthwhile : )  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Wolenczak shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wondered why he was not dead. His side still hurt, despite the painkillers the doctor had given him that morning. She had checked in his mouth to see that he had swallowed them. She was good.  
  
He wondered what her voice sounded like. In the days he'd been aboard the seaQuest he'd never heard her speak. When she tended him first, when he was sick, she had seemed serious and focussed, and he hadn't tried to speak to her. Now, sometimes, she flashed him a kind smile. Once, shortly after he had first regained consciousness, he had woken to find her watching him with sadness in her eyes. He wondered what she was sad about.  
  
Sometimes he heard her voice in his dreams, but he never saw her face. Just like his mother. And all those hours alone in the cell, lying on his back and trying not to think, he focussed on the voice of his dreams, the voice that had merged with his mother's voice, waiting, wanting it to be the last thing he heard.  
  
But death hadn't come. Something had gone wrong. And now he had been sitting alone, hands cuffed to the table, for what seemed like hours. He was waiting for the hammer blow to fall. He wondered if waiting was part of the torture. He concentrated on keeping his back straight, his expression blank, knowing they were watching him. But inside his stomach was twisted with fear. Waiting for death had been one thing – sometimes it seemed to him that that was all he had done his whole life – but this was quite another.  
  
The door opened. He forced himself not to react, not to look up. He didn't want to know who it was.  
  
A figure seated itself in his line of sight across the table. He knew the face, though he had seen it before only at rest. Awake, the man looked uneasy, though trying to smile. He placed a thick file on the table in front of him. Then he raised his head and looked Wolenczak directly in the eyes. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Robert Bridger nodded his head.  
  
"Good morning Lucas," he said quietly.  
  
  
  
Robert smiled, trying to cover his unease. His father hadn't been happy about him questioning the prisoner, wanting to do it himself, but Robert had convinced him that the boy would relate better to someone closer to his own age. He knew what he had to do – turn the boy against the Free Nations, tell him of his UEO heritage, persuade him to tell his secrets. It had sounded easy in the Ward Room – after all, they had all the evidence – and Robert had been pleased at a chance to be an active member of the crew, hoping he might prove himself to his crewmates, his father – even himself. But now, faced with a cold blue stare, an expressionless face that looked so different from how it had in Med Bay, Robert wondered if he shouldn't have left it to his father after all. He still felt something drawing him to the boy, something he couldn't explain. But that stare made him nervous.  
  
He cleared his throat. "We haven't officially met," he said. "My name is Robert." He extended a hand, then realised that the other man's hands were cuffed to the table. Stupid, stupid, he thought. Gain the boy's confidence. Hard to gain someone else's confidence when your own was rapidly ebbing away. He leaned forward conspiratorially.  
  
"Commander Ford's pretty pissed at you," he said, with what he hoped looked like a mischievous grin. It felt more like a grimace. "He's one of the youngest commanders in the fleet, you know. I think he's pretty proud of it. Or was."  
  
The boy – Lucas – regarded him steadily. Not a flicker of emotion broke the mask on his face. Robert sighed, knowing he didn't have long. Westphalen was already livid about how long the boy had been kept sitting in the interrogation room while he argued with his father. He had to play his trump card.  
  
"There's something I need to tell you," he said gently. He knew this one was going to require some tact. "It's about your parents. We've found out who they were." The ice in the boy's stare seemed suddenly to intensify. "This is our file on Lawrence Wolenczak, your father." He opened the file to the first page, where there was a picture of Wolenczak, and slid it over. The kid didn't even glance down. He kept his gaze trained on Robert. Robert swallowed. "He and your mother where murdered by the Alliance of Free Nations."  
  
The looked-for reaction came so suddenly that Robert almost jumped out of his skin. The colour drained from the boy's face, except two spots of burning red in his cheeks, and his eyes flashed with sudden rage.  
  
"That's a lie," he said, and though his voice was not loud it sounded like thunder in the stillness of the room. "My parents were killed by the UEO."  
  
Robert sat for a moment, still startled by the boy's sudden animation. Before he had a chance to react, however, the shutters had slammed closed again, and the only traces of that moment of breakthrough were two spots of fading colour in the boy's cheeks and the clenched muscles of his jaw. But he had hit home. That was enough for Robert, for now at least. He stood to leave.  
  
"I'll leave that here," he said kindly, gesturing at the file. "In case you want to read it."  
  
And with that, he was gone.  
  
  
  
Wolenczak was fuming. How dare they! How dare they claim the Alliance had killed his parents! He paced backwards and forwards in the narrow cell, not caring anymore that they were watching or even that the pain in his side was growing. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists and tried to keep his emotions in check as much as possible. How dare they.  
  
In truth, he was angry at himself as much as them. After all, what had he expected from the damn UEO? Pain, that's what, he reminded himself. Interrogation. Not this. Funny how kind words and smooth lies stung worse than a dozen blows.  
  
That's what they want, soldier. The thought came in Braithwaite's voice, like his inner pep-talks always did. They're smarter than you give them credit for. They knew where to hurt you. Now they've got a reaction from you, they're never going to stop needling. Wolenczak knew it was true. He should never have spoken to the kid, not once. But it had been so unexpected. Like they had known the one thing that kept him going every day in the war, in his life, and tried to rip it out from under his feet. Well they weren't going to succeed. Wolenczak forced himself to slow his pacing and draw deep, calming breaths. They seemed to think they were dealing with some kind of child. All the kindness, calling him 'Lucas' – no- one ever called him that! – but they were dead wrong if they thought that just because he was young he was going to be easy to crack.  
  
By the time the doctor came in, Wolenczak was seated calmly on the bed, his mask back in place. The woman looked at him with kindly eyes, but he didn't return her gaze. No more giving in to their tricks. After she had given him his shot and disappeared, he allowed his shoulders to sag slightly. Roll on pain, he thought, feeling emotionally exhausted. Anything's got to be better than this.  
  
  
  
The following day, Wolenczak felt stronger, more able to deal with things. He kept his gaze carefully averted when the doctor came in. She had sung to him in his dreams last night. If he didn't know better he'd swear the UEO were piping her into his head on purpose.  
  
The wait in the interrogation room was shorter today. The interrogator was the younger Bridger once again. This time he was carrying a petri dish. "Good morning, Lucas," he said, and Wolenczak sneered inwardly. "Did you read the file?"  
  
Wolenczak had not touched the file. He knew they knew that, since he had placed it in a prominent position in his cell. They weren't going to get him reading their propaganda that easily. He knew all about the techniques of brainwashing, had started to learn them before he could pilot an attack sub. No matter how much his fingers had itched, he hadn't given in.  
  
The lieutenant slid the petri dish over the table to him. Wolenczak allowed himself to glance down briefly, without moving his head. "Do you know what that is?" the young man asked. Wolenczak didn't respond. Of course he knew, he'd designed the damn thing. Well, now he knew why he wasn't dead.  
  
"It's an implant the ship's doctor removed from your body." Wolenczak forced down an impulse to twitch at the word 'doctor'. "It contained cyanide, and was designed so that it could be remotely activated after your capture to release the cyanide into your bloodstream." Bridger waited. "To kill you," he added.  
  
Wolenczak wondered what the point of all this was. Maybe they were just trying to confirm that there was no escape. Death would not save him from their clutches, they had made sure of that. Well, he'd figured that out by now anyway: Braithwaite would have activated the implant long ago if he could have. But he supposed this meant that the Free Nations thought he was dead. He hoped they didn't become overconfident based on that assumption. He knew that everyone cracked under torture eventually – another titbit of knowledge from his early childhood – and though he was determined to hold out as long as he could, he was sure he would be no exception. At some point, the UEO would find about the Freedom's cloaking technology. He hoped Braithwaite was a long way away when they did. He remembered the captain's words to him: You may have just won us this war. Lost it, more like. He noticed that Bridger was looking anxious and wondered what he had expected. Trembling confessions? Begging for mercy? No, you'll have to work a little harder to get those, he thought grimly. To his surprise, the young man rose to his feet, picking up the petri dish.  
  
"Well," he said, "I'll leave you to think about that for a while."  
  
He left. Wolenczak watched him go, not sure whether to be relieved or afraid. 


	10. Chapter 10

Money makes the world go round, but I'm not making any with this story. And I don't own seaQuest or the characters. So there.  
  
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine... (Think Elijah Wood in Forever Young). Yes, that's right, I'm talking about you: Teresa, Mar, ano, PhoenixTears80, pari106 and sara. May your marshmallows be forever fluffy.  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Robert groaned, his head in his hands. Krieg put an arm around his shoulders.  
  
"Come on, Robbie," he said soothingly. "You're taking this way too hard."  
  
"I blew it," Robert said shaking his head. "I had him yesterday, and I blew it. I should have showed him the implant then, instead of giving him time to recover."  
  
Krieg tried to get his young friend to look at him. Although they had been through the Academy at the same time, Ben was a few years older than Robert; he had drifted for a while before signing up. Robert had never drifted in his life. Never been allowed to drift, Ben corrected himself mentally.  
  
"Hey," Krieg said, "he's not going anywhere. Sooner or later he'll open up to you."  
  
"You haven't seen him, Ben. You haven't talked to him. It's like there's no- one there. It's like talking to a wall."  
  
Ben was worried. He knew Robert hadn't been sleeping well, and to take on a job this demanding so soon after a traumatic experience, not to mention head injury... "Maybe you should let someone else take over," he said softly.  
  
Robert sat bolt upright. "No!" he yelled, then his voice softened. "My father will think I'm a failure. I'm not giving up. No way."  
  
Krieg sighed. Sometimes he thought Robert's fear of his old man's disapproval bordered on psychosis. Sure, the captain was a little stern, but there was no question that he loved his son – at least, not to anyone else.  
  
"OK then," he said finally. "Maybe you're going about this the wrong way. You're trying to shock him into hating the Alliance, but he's not going to believe you about what they did to him and his parents. You're the enemy. And he's sixteen – remember what it was like? He's going to be stubborn as hell. You've got to become a friend. And I'm damn sure the poor kid needs one."  
  
Robert eyed him. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Do you remember what it was like being sixteen?" Krieg asked. "Come on, it's less long ago for you than it is for me. All we had to worry about was chasing girls and trying to get served in bars." Robert gave him a look. Krieg shrugged. "Well, maybe that was just me. But this kid's a commander in the navy, Robert! No matter how low quality that navy might be, it still means he must have been in it for a while. And he's sixteen! He doesn't know anything else. His parents died before he could remember them." Krieg paused, and looked hard at Robert. "Tell me the truth, there was a reason you took this assignment other than proving yourself to your dad, wasn't there?"  
  
Robert looked suspicious, then sighed. "Yeah," he said, clasping his hands between his knees. "It sounds crazy, but..." he trailed off.  
  
Krieg grinned. "Crazy is my life. Fire away."  
  
Robert smiled at him gratefully. "It's like, we're two of a kind," he said falteringly. "I felt it when I first saw him. Like, I could have been him, in another life. Or he could have been me," he added, quietly.  
  
"There but for the grace of God," Krieg said reflectively.  
  
"Kind of. But I felt it most strongly when he was unconscious. When he's awake he's just... scary."  
  
Krieg regarded him seriously. "I'll tell you one thing, Robert," he said, "I'll bet he's more scared of you than you are of him."  
  
  
  
"So what do you think they're going to do to him?" asked Ortiz, shovelling a forkful of salad into his mouth.  
  
"What do you mean, 'they'?" O'Neill asked.  
  
"You know," Ortiz leaned in conspiratorially. "Section Seven," he whispered.  
  
"What makes you think they'll want him?" Krieg asked. He hadn't heard anything about the prisoner being taken off the boat. He hoped Robert would get a chance to get something out of him before they did.  
  
"Oh, come on Ben," Ortiz grinned. Ben couldn't help but grin back. The young Cuban's easy manner made him impossible not to like, and although they had only been on board ship a week or two, he had already made friends with half the crew. "He knows the secrets of the ghost ship! Of course they're going to want him."  
  
Crocker, sitting down at the table, overheard the last remark and spat reflexively on the floor. All the senior officers at the table turned and stared at him in disgust.  
  
"Force of habit," he said apologetically.  
  
"I know what you mean," Tim O'Neill said, adjusting his spectacles. "The whole thing makes me nervous."  
  
"Everything makes you nervous, Tim," Miguel said cheerfully.  
  
"That ship was pretty freaky," said Krieg, "but I've seen the kid, and he ain't no ghost. He's as real as you or me, and twice as ugly. Well, maybe not twice as ugly as you, Miguel..."  
  
The Cuban shot him a withering stare. "All I'm saying," he continued, "is eventually they're going to come for him. I'm surprised they haven't already."  
  
"Well I, for one, won't be sorry to see him leave," said O'Neill, shivering. "I've seen the pictures of him on the security camera...."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" countered Krieg. "What did he look like, the devil?" He shook his head. "Come on, you guys! This is a kid we're talking about!" The other senior officers eyed him sceptically.  
  
"OK guys, can the scuttlebutt," Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock sat down with a glass of water. "Need I remind you that this matter is classified?"  
  
Krieg turned and grinned. "Aw, come on Katie," he wheedled, "can't you just tell us what you've been talking about in all those meetings with the captain?"  
  
Hitchcock looked at him in disgust. "Lieutenant Krieg, it would be completely against my moral duty as an officer aboard this ship, not to mention my own personal code of ethics, to tell you that Captain Bridger has not informed UEO command about the prisoner." She stood up to go. "And if I hear one more word about the matter from any of you," she added sweetly, "I'll report you to the captain."  
  
A stunned silence followed her departure from the table. Then Ortiz whistled.  
  
"She's one hell of a woman."  
  
  
  
Over the next few weeks, Robert Bridger visited Wolenczak every day. He called the young man 'Lucas' and kept him informed about events on the ship, describing the ship's executive crew in such detail that Wolenczak felt like he knew them personally. He told amusing anecdotes and described the border scuffles the ship became involved in. He confided his own personal feelings about many things, his hopes and dreams, his anxieties and his relationship with each member of the crew. His interlocutor remained expressionless and still as a statue throughout it all; he hadn't spoken since his outburst on the first day. Yet as time went on, Robert found that he had stopped finding this disconcerting. It was almost like keeping a diary: Robert was able to pour out his innermost thoughts without fear of ridicule. He found that he became more relaxed, and to his surprise he quickly began to make friends among the crew, although he had never found social relationships easy before.  
  
He found, too, that he had stopped worrying about failing his father as far as Lucas was concerned. He had stopped seeing his visits as part of a project or a mission; he looked forward to them as he would visits to an old friend. Even when the seaQuest was engaged in under-sea dogfights, Robert always made sure he dropped in on Lucas at some point during the day, if only for a few minutes. When it was clear that the boy would not read the file on his father, Robert began to read sections of it out loud to him. During those times he felt the intensity of the gaze trained on him even though he could not see it. It didn't scare him any more though. He began to feel, oddly, as thought the only thing that scared him now was that Lucas would be taken away. And he was grateful to his father for not informing the UEO, though he knew that he had not done so merely because he wanted to find out about the 'ghost ship' personally. When his father asked him how the interrogation was going, he always said he was making progress.  
  
To anyone who viewed the interrogation from outside – although Robert always made sure that no-one did – it would have seemed like nothing was being achieved. The prisoner showed no outward sign of interest or emotion. Yet Robert felt the cold emptiness in those eyes become warmer every day. Sometimes he would pace the room animatedly while telling a story, and would turn to find Lucas' eyes still on him, though he never moved his head. At those moments he would smile, and wonder if he imagined an answering flicker in the depths of that gaze.  
  
  
  
Wolenczak lay on the hard bed in the brig, staring up at the ceiling. A slight shudder ran through the ship, and he wondered what was going on out there. Robert would tell him later, he knew. Robert had not come yet today, and he was eagerly anticipating the visit. Even the doctor had stopped coming more than once a week now. Last time she had come, Wolenczak had had to fight with every fibre of his being not to put his hand on her arm, to stop her from leaving.  
  
He was more or less convinced now that he was not going to be tortured, and he was surprised at this. But the fact that they had succeeded, through starving him of stimuli, to make him look forward to Robert's daily visits had angered him deeply at first. After a while, though, he accepted it. You're playing right into their hands, came the voice in his head, but each day it was weaker, and the reprimands began to be delivered in his own voice, not Braithwaite's.  
  
At first he had listened to Robert's monologue merely for something to distract his mind, but as time went on he grew to relish the young man's visits. He laughed inwardly when Robert told him about Krieg's latest scheme, commiserated in his heart when a crewman was killed, and, remembering the striking woman on the bridge, agreed silently when Robert spoke of his secret admiration for Commander Hitchcock. His interest in the military manoeuvres the ship was engaged in began to dwindle, and he found himself looking forward more and more to Robert's descriptions of the banal, everyday occurences on board: conversations in the mess, games of poker, movie nights in Krieg's cabin. He wondered what it must be like to fit in so well.  
  
On one level, he knew he was just pathetically grateful for human contact. On another, he found he was growing increasingly fond of Robert, and admired the boy's persistence in returning day after day. He felt he knew the young man better than he had ever known anyone before, as a result of his emotional outpourings. And more than anything he looked forward to the times when Robert read to him from his father's file. At those times he listened greedily, treasuring every word. He knew intellectually that most of it was probably lies, but emotionally he didn't care. He had been so long in the dark, without a connection to his parents, and now one was being offered to him, and he found himself unable to reject it. He wondered if Robert would read to him today.  
  
  
  
Robert opened the file. "Where were we?" he muttered, flipping through the pages. "Oh, yeah, here we are." He cleared his throat.  
  
"During the spring of 2005, Dr. Wolenczak was working on the plans for an enormous undersea power-station, in which turbines would be driven by deep- ocean currents. If successful, the power station would have been capable of providing enough electricity to suit the needs of every person living on Earth, and then some.  
  
In May 2005, Dr. Wolenczak disappeared, along with his wife and infant son, from their home in New Cape Quest. After a detailed investigation it was surmised that the family had been kidnapped. No organization claimed responsibility for the kidnapping, nor was any ransom note received."  
  
Robert turned the page.  
  
"In November 2005, the bodies of Lawrence and Cynthia Wolenczak were found on a beach in Florida. The condition of the bodies..." he stopped reading, a lump in his throat, and began to close the file. When he looked up he saw to his astonishment that Lucas was leaning forward, his mouth slightly open, a look of acute anxiety on his face. Robert stared at him, transfixed. And Lucas' lips moved.  
  
"Tell me," he whispered.  
  
For a moment Robert sat in stunned silence. Then he opened the file again, lowered his head and began to read. 


	11. Chapter 11

I've run out of amusing things to say about how seaQuest and its characters are not mine. So I'll just not say it. Oh...darn.  
  
Snowdrops and roses and noses on kittens to all my reviewers (think about it, kittens without noses would look pretty weird...): pari106, sara, Pheniox-Skye, ano, Diena, KatKnits00, Mar and PhoenixTears80. I'm glad you're still enjoying this even though the action content has gone down!  
  
(Posh English voice): Poor old Lucas! He does get into some scrapes, doesn't he? I wonder what he will do next? Let's find out...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 11  
  
"Good morning Lucas," Robert smiled as he sailed cheerily through the door. The boy was sitting in his usual place and his usual posture. His face was blank as always, but Robert looked twice, thinking there was something hard about his eyes that morning.  
  
"Is something wrong?" he asked anxiously. No response. Robert was disappointed: he had hoped that after the breakthrough of the day before, Lucas might be ready to talk. But it seemed not to be the case. Oh well, he thought, sighing inwardly. Rome wasn't built in a day. And that stuff about his parents must have come as a shock.  
  
He sat down, smiling encouragingly at Lucas. He found himself feeling slightly uneasy under that gaze, though, an emotion that he had not felt for some time. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Well," he said, "I guess you're wondering what was going on earlier, huh?" Earlier they had been in a minor skirmish. Several torpedoes had exploded near seaQuest and caused the boat to rock slightly. "Well, we're down by the border with the Pacific South-West Federation as you know, on a peace- keeping mission, and..." He stopped suddenly as he heard a chair clattering. Lucas was on his feet, still handcuffed to the table, and he looked livid.  
  
"Peace-keeping? Don't give me this doublespeak bullshit, Robert! The UEO is about war, not peace!"  
  
Robert gaped up at him, speechless. He was unable to find any meaningful words to fill the void that had suddenly opened up in his brain. "Wh-," was all he managed before Lucas spoke again, eyes flashing.  
  
"You know something? You need to grow up and face the real world. Your government isn't interested in freedom and democracy. It's interested in power and money, the same as all the rest."  
  
"B-but," Robert stuttered, "we didn't kill your parents, Lucas..."  
  
"Do you think that matters anymore?" Lucas shook his head angrily. "A lot of people I know are dead Robert, not just my parents. A lot of people are dead, period. The UEO's hands are as dirty as everyone else's. When I was seven we had to escape our colony because the UEO was attacking it. One of my teachers was killed, some of the children..."  
  
Robert was standing up now too, getting over his first shock. "The UEO liberated those colonies from tyranny!"  
  
Lucas' lip curled in disgust. "I see you've swallowed the party line, hook, line and sinker," he said, his voice sharp with bitterness. "Do you think it makes any difference to the people in those colonies which confederation they're being oppressed by? It's hard to exercise your democratic rights from inside a body bag."  
  
Robert shook his head. "The Free Nations government has been lying to you all your life, Lucas! It's time to listen to the truth."  
  
Lucas leaned in closer. "Don't you think I know that? I've always known it. It's the job of governments to lie. The only reason why we're on different sides in this war is geography, Robert. You're not fighting because your cause is more just than mine, you're fighting because you're a UEO citizen and you want to protect your home and your loved ones. Don't you think I want that too?" His face was almost wistful now. "Don't you think that's what we all want? It's time to wise up, kid. You and I, we're just pawns. Only difference is, I know it. I don't dispute the evidence when it's right before my eyes. What about you, Robert?" his blue eyes blazed mercilessly. "I know you've mastered doublespeak. How about doublethink?"  
  
Robert found himself unable to look away, his gaze locked onto Lucas'. He felt as if he was falling, being drawn in to a great furnace that burned with a cold fire. At the last minute he wrenched his eyes away with a choking sob, turned and ran out of the room, slamming the hatchway with a loud clang.  
  
Lucas watched him go, his expression a mixture of anger and pity. Then he sat down again and the mask slipped over his face once more.  
  
  
  
"Robert, would you just calm down? You're giving me a headache!" Krieg wailed as Robert paced energetically round his quarters, waving his arms in the air.  
  
"No I will not calm down!" yelled Robert. "How dare he?"  
  
Krieg shook his head. "I don't understand what you're so shook up about," he said. "I mean, come on, the kid's been brought up by the Alliance of Free Nations. Of course he's not going to think the UEO is the Second Coming." He jumped up suddenly and stood in front of Robert, blocking the young man's progress. His friend eyed him angrily. "Come on, buddy, just sit down," he pleaded. "Let's talk about this properly."  
  
Robert looked mutinous for a moment, then sighed and sat down on the bunk. "You know what?" said Krieg. "I'm not sure it's what the kid said so much as what he didn't say that's upsetting you. You were so psyched last night after he spoke to you. I guess you were expecting something a little less... hostile?"  
  
Robert shook his head, breathing deeply. "It's not that," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "At least, not just that. It's just... I've tried so hard to convince him, to bring him over to our side, and..."  
  
"And you thought he trusted you," Krieg finished. "Robert, did you ever stop to think that it's not about you at all? That maybe the kid is right?"  
  
Robert flushed deep red and glared at Krieg. The older man raised his hands in surrender. "Woah! Don't shoot the messenger!" he said in a placatory tone. "I'm just saying, think about it: no government has ever been perfect. Every confederation is a mixture of bad and good. Just because the UEO constitution has a commitment to upholding human rights and seeking peace doesn't mean that those who run it have any interest in sticking to that constitution. And like he said, in the end, when you're dead, you're dead, whether you were killed by peace-keepers or war-mongers."  
  
"You're taking his side!" Robert said angrily.  
  
"No I'm not," Krieg said quietly. "I'm just trying to get you to see things from a different perspective. I know you've been brought up to believe that the UEO is the only force for good in this world, but I just want you to realise that things might not be quite that simple." He stood up. He'd had enough of this argument, and he thought Robert needed some time to think. "Look, I'm going to bed," he said, not unkindly. "But you think about it, ok?" He felt Robert's fuming stare burning into his back all the way down the corridor.  
  
  
  
The woman's voice was like cool water. He stood, mesmerised by the cadences. He couldn't hear what was being said, just a sweet, gentle murmuring. He felt a smile spread across his face, and then felt someone touch him on the shoulder.  
  
He reacted in an instant, bringing both hands up towards the source of the touch with calculated force. He felt resistance, heard a muffled shout of surprise and the sound of someone hitting the floor. Then he was sitting up, staring into the darkness, trying to remember where he was. The memory wasn't long in coming. He slipped off the bed, crouching, waiting for reprisals, for a jackboot on his neck and the inevitable end of this quiet routine.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Lucas," came a voice from the other side of the room, "you almost broke my nose!"  
  
Lucas – he had started thinking of himself as Lucas now, despite numerous reprimands from his inner Braithwaite – rose to his feet. "Robert?" he said tentatively.  
  
A dim light began to glow in the room, and Lucas saw the young lieutenant ruefully rubbing his face. "That's a hell of a punch you pack there," he said with a lopsided smile. "Almost knocked me out. Again."  
  
Lucas frowned in confusion. "What are you doing here? It can't be morning yet."  
  
"Nah. I couldn't sleep," Robert crossed the room and sat on the bed. Lucas sat down beside him, hardly realising that he had finally broken his silence for good. "I've been thinking about what you said."  
  
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And?"  
  
Robert sighed. "I guess you're right. At least, some of the things you said were right. But you've got to realise, there's no way the Free Nations is ever going to win this war. It'll be swallowed up by one confederation or other. And despite what you say, I still believe the UEO is a better deal than the Chao Dai or the Pacific South-West."  
  
"So you think I should just betray my confederation, just like that?" Lucas asked, his voice cold.  
  
Robert watched him for a moment. The feeling of kinship seemed especially strong to him at that moment. "How old were you when you first killed someone, Lucas?"  
  
The boy turned his head away, looking straight in front. The softness of sleep in his features was gone, replaced by the hardened lines that Robert was familiar with. "I was nine," he said bluntly.  
  
"That must have been before you were even in the navy," Robert said softly.  
  
Lucas shrugged. "It was part of basic training at the school," he said tonelessly. "The command didn't want soldiers to be faced with it for the first time in battle."  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
"A UEO spy. At least," Lucas lowered his gaze, "that's what they said."  
  
Robert stood up and crossed to the other side of the room, picked up the thick folder and returned to the bed, placing it in Lucas' arms. "I've never killed anyone, myself," he said. "If you were in the UEO, you wouldn't even have been allowed to enlist yet. You would still be at high school, thinking about life, not death."  
  
Lucas opened the cover of the file and gazed down at the photograph of his father, brushing his fingertips over it gently. Robert got off the bed again and crouched in front of Lucas, staring up into his eyes. For the first time he saw nothing in them but loss and confusion.  
  
"You don't owe them anything, Lucas," he said gently, placing his hands on the boy's wrists. "You don't owe them anything at all."  
  
But Lucas was not looking at him; he was staring at the picture of his long- dead father. 


	12. Chapter 12

No seaQuest for me, I've been a bad girl....  
  
Wow! Loads of people reviewed the last one! It's getting hard to keep all your photos on my mental altar! I guess that means y'all deserve an update.... You know who you are: sara, Pheniox-Skye, ano, Mar, Kiddo, Diena, pari106, PhoenixTears80 and Fiona.  
  
Mar: I wonder if you could clarify what you said in your review? You were right to notice the importance of the "who's right in war" argument – it's one of the first parts of the story I wrote – so I'm interested in your thoughts, but I didn't understand if you thought that "me right, you wrong" was a more appropriatelogical response – and for whom?  
  
Kiddo: Yeah, I get the idea I lost a few people at the beginning. I'm so pleased you decided to give my story a second chance, and that you like it – it means a lot : ).  
  
pari106: have I mentioned how much I like your fast – and kind – reviews ; ) ? (And that goes for the rest of you too – what shiny stars you all are...)  
  
Well, I'd better stop waffling then...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Bridger was zipping up his jumpsuit when he heard, to his surprise, the sound of jaunty whistling coming down the corridor. He was even more surprised when the whistler stopped outside his door. There was a knock, and the door swung open, revealing his son, Robert, framed in the doorway, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.  
  
"Morning, dad!" he sang out, beaming.  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows. The boy still didn't know how to behave appropriately when on duty. "Lieutenant," he responded coolly. For a moment Robert's smile faltered, then it slipped determinedly back into place.  
  
"I take it you have something to report?" Bridger asked.  
  
"Yeah," Robert said, stepping into the room and sitting down, stretching his legs out in front of him. "He's talking!"  
  
Bridger knew immediately who he was referring to. He forgot Robert's behaviour for a moment. "What does he know about the stealth technology?"  
  
"We haven't talked about it yet," Robert admitted.  
  
"Then what have you talked about," Bridger asked, surprised.  
  
"Oh, life, death, war," Robert replied breezily. "You know, stuff." His face grew suddenly animated. "Dad, I was wondering if I could show him the boat?"  
  
Bridger's eyebrows nearly went into orbit. "What?!" He realised he'd made a mistake allowing Robert to conduct the interrogation. He'd thought it would be good for the boy to face his attacker, but now he seemed to have lost all sense of reality. "Robert, that man is an enemy soldier! We can't just let him roam around the boat!"  
  
"Dad, he's a UEO citizen," Robert protested. "We can't just keep him locked up for ever! And we'll never gain his trust if he's stuck in the brig. I'll keep an eye on him, I promise."  
  
Bridger stared at him in astonishment. "Robert, last time that man was free on board this boat he almost killed you! He almost killed all of us."  
  
"I know, but that was different," Robert's face was pleading now. "Dad, I really think you need to give him a chance."  
  
"I said no, Lieutenant, and I meant it!"  
  
Robert stiffened. He stood up sharply and saluted. "Aye, captain," he said, infusing the last word with such bitterness that Bridger almost flinched. The captain watched his son leave, shaking his head in amazement. The boy thinks with his heart, he thought sadly. Just like his mother.  
  
  
  
"I hate to say it, Captain, but he may have a point."  
  
Bridger rolled his eyes at the commander. Ford seemed to have more or less come through his teething problems and was shaping up to be a fine XO. He had all the qualities of a good soldier. "Don't tell me you're going soft on me too, Jonathan."  
  
Ford shook his head seriously. "He is a UEO citizen sir, he does have rights."  
  
"He lost his rights when he attacked my boat and killed my crew," Bridger said sharply.  
  
"Well, I think it might make him more likely to tell us what he knows if we can convince him that the UEO is his real home. We can keep a guard on him at all times."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Well, alright," he said reluctantly. "But Jonathan, you're responsible for his conduct. He is not to be taken to the bridge, or shown any classified experiments. Understood?"  
  
"Aye, sir," said Ford.  
  
  
  
"Welcome to the corridor outside the brig," Robert said, beaming, his arms flung wide. Lucas looked around.  
  
"Nice," he said, his voice deadpan. "Homey."  
  
Robert grinned even wider. They made a strange group as they made their way down the corridor: the smiling lieutenant, the serious-faced teenager in his bright orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed at the wrists, and the beefy security guard with the outsized gun. The few crewmen who passed them stopped and stared. All three men ignored them.  
  
Robert had been overjoyed when Ford had told him of his father's change of heart. It was a full week now since their conversations had switched from monologue to dialogue, and although Lucas still spoke rarely, Robert felt that the rapport between them had deepened. He felt protective towards the younger man, although he knew in his heart that Lucas was much more equipped to deal with danger than he himself was.  
  
"Come on," he said, taking his friend's elbow. "I want to show you something."  
  
He led the party to the moon pool, and knelt beside the pool, slapping the surface of the water gently with his palm. After a moment, Darwin's sleek grey head emerged, cackling happily. Robert rubbed his jaw, and turned to grin at Lucas, the stopped. The boy was still standing some distance away, the security guard a grim presence behind him. His face was wearing what Robert had come to think of as the 'military mask'.  
  
"What is that thing?" he asked, and if Robert didn't know better he could have sworn he saw fear in his friend's eyes.  
  
Robert laughed incredulously. "He's a dolphin!" He stared at his friend. "Haven't you ever seen a dolphin before?"  
  
"Not this close," Lucas muttered.  
  
"Come on," Robert beckoned him. "He won't bite." Lucas stepped closer and crouched at the edge of the pool. Robert took his bound hands and placed them on the dolphin's head. Lucas' body was rigid with tension.  
  
"Darwin, this is Lucas," said Robert to the dolphin. Darwin nodded his head up and down in the water and chattered. "He likes you," said Robert with a smile. Lucas stared at the animal, and for a moment his mask slipped, showing a mixture of fear and wonder.  
  
"What is he doing here?" he asked.  
  
"My dad's been trying to develop a sign language to communicate with dolphins," Robert said. "Darwin understands over 60 hand signals now. To be honest with you, I was pretty pissed off to find out he was on board, but he's a very disarming gentleman, aren't you Darwin?"  
  
Lucas was staring at his hands resting on the dolphin's head. "He's intelligent?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Robert grinned. "Dolphins are smart in a way we still don't understand. He hasn't mastered the hand signals himself yet. No hands."  
  
Darwin snorted, spraying water over the two young men. Robert laughed. "Careful!" he said to Lucas. "You almost cracked a smile there! You might hurt your face!"  
  
But Lucas wasn't looking at him anymore. At a slight sound in the room behind him he had stiffened, and was now staring back. Robert turned in surprise to see Doctor Westphalen standing there.  
  
"Doctor!" he grinned, getting to his feet. "Come and meet Lucas!"  
  
Westphalen stepped forward with a gentle smile. "We've met before, but not officially," she said, holding out her hand. Lucas took it awkwardly between his chained palms. "I'm Kristen," the doctor said warmly. "It's good to see you up and about."  
  
Lucas didn't answer. Robert looked at his friend in surprise: the boy was still holding Westphalen's hand, staring into her eyes with an undisguised look of awe. Robert was startled: he had seen such naked emotion on that face only once before, and then it had been rage. He cleared his throat. Lucas started, and the mask snapped back into place so quickly that Robert almost heard the clang. He nodded gravely, releasing the woman's hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Doctor," he said with feeling. Westphalen gave him an odd look.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid I'm on my way somewhere, but I hope to see you around sometime," she said, smiling again.  
  
When she was gone Robert turned to Lucas in surprise. "What was all that about?"  
  
Lucas was silent for a long moment, seeming to be listening to something Robert couldn't hear. Then he sighed and shook his head. "She sounds like someone I... used to know," he said softly.  
  
Robert waited to see if anything else would be forthcoming, then grinned. "Come on," he said, clapping his friend on the back. "Let's go and get some coffee."  
  
  
  
"Hey," Ortiz said around a mouthful of unidentified pasta-based mush. "Don't look now, but guess who just walked in here?"  
  
Krieg, O'Neill and Crocker turned to look. Robert had just entered the mess followed by a young man in a bright orange jumpsuit, who was in turn followed by an armed security guard. Ortiz rolled his eyes. "OK, guys, don't make it too obvious, will ya?"  
  
O'Neill leaned over the table. "What is he doing here?" he hissed.  
  
"Is that the guy?" Crocker asked in a low voice. Ortiz nodded.  
  
"Who else would it be?"  
  
"Guys, guys," Krieg said in an undertone. "Let's not make the kid feel any more of an outsider than he already does, OK? Just act natural."  
  
For a moment there was silence at the table. Then O'Neill pushed his tray away. "I can't eat this," he said.  
  
Krieg stared at him. "You were pretty happy to eat it a minute ago," he said accusingly.  
  
"Yeah, well," O'Neill pushed his glasses back onto his nose, "I lose my appetite when I get nervous. Is he watching me? I feel like he's watching me."  
  
"Relax, Tim, he's not even looking this way," said Ortiz. Then he grinned. "Mind you, from some of the stories that have been doing the rounds, this kid could probably kill you from across the room without even looking at ya."  
  
O'Neill looked sick. This time it was Krieg's turn to roll his eyes. He stood up without speaking, picked up his tray, and walked over to the table where Robert was sitting with his young friend. The lieutenant looked up and grinned.  
  
"Hey, Ben," he said, looking relieved. "This is Lucas."  
  
Ben smiled at the young man, who looked up and met his gaze. For a moment, Krieg faltered, daunted by the intensity of the boy's eyes. Then he regained his composure. "I've heard a lot about you," he said.  
  
"Likewise," said Lucas laconically.  
  
Ben sat down at the table. "So, how're you enjoying the famous UEO hospitality?"  
  
Lucas raised his wrists slightly off the table so the chain of the handcuffs jingled. "I've had better," he noted.  
  
"Oh. Right." Krieg swallowed. He was beginning to see what O'Neill meant about being nervous. "So, uh, what have you guys been up to?" he asked. Lucas said nothing. Robert looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and began telling Krieg about his day. Soon the two friends were engaged in a lively conversation. Both made an effort to include Lucas, but he answered questions addressed to him with monosyllables and otherwise sat silent, stony-faced. Eventually, the burly security man leaned forward and spoke to Robert. He sighed.  
  
"Time for us to take you back," he said apologetically to Lucas. The boy rose without a word.  
  
"Nice to meet you," said Krieg. Lucas nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
"See you later," said Robert, sounding a little embarrassed.  
  
As soon as they were gone, Krieg found himself surrounded. "Well?" demanded Ortiz. "What was he like?"  
  
Krieg looked at his three friends, and grinned.  
  
"I bet that kid's phenomenal at poker," he said.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite looked his submarine over carefully. They had taken something of a beating in their last border skirmish when a stray Chaodai torpedo had scored a lucky hit. Still, although the sophisticated stealth system had failed in its original purpose – to snare seaQuest – it was proving itself very useful against lesser foes. Braithwaite had even heard that the Chief of Staff, his confidence boosted by his new weapon, was thinking of trying to take back some of the Free Nations territory that had been lost in the last few years. Braithwaite himself thought this a little foolhardy, but he reminded himself that unless they regained some more productive land, there was no way the navy would be able to outfit a second ship with the stealth system, even if they had still had Wolenczak.  
  
That thought brought him back, as it always did, to the seaQuest. He felt humiliated and angry: the boat had been within his grasp, and at the last moment it had slipped through his fingers, taking his best officer with it. Such a waste. His new XO was a good, loyal soldier and a smart man, but he was no Wolenczak. The Freedom had been in dry-dock for two weeks already, and there were still problems with the computer: some of the memory had been fried in the impact, and the technicians were still trying to recover it. Braithwaite couldn't help thinking that Wolenczak would have had the system on its feet days ago.  
  
Well, there was no time for wishful thinking. Braithwaite was a man of action, and he needed a plan. The best way of getting hold of vital components without having to pay for them out of the Free Nations' ever- dwindling coffers was to steal them from other confederations. Braithwaite grinned as he began to formulate a plan; when the Freedom was ready, they were going hunting. 


	13. Chapter 13

Hey guys! Remember me? I'm the one who doesn't own seaQuest or any of the characters! Ain't that a kick?  
  
Sun on the leaves and beer (or refreshment of your choice) in the garden for my gorgeous reviewers: sara, PhoenixTears80, Kiddo, pari106, Zoe and Mar. If I ever have a virtual barbecue, you guys are all invited ; )  
  
Kiddo and Mar: Yeah, Bridger is a bit of a git, isn't he? Sorry about that, he just kind of turned out that way.... He's not evil really, he just doesn't understand...  
  
Sara: I love you too sweetheart : ). Here's your update!  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Lucas Wolenczak sat on the hard bed in the brig and stared down at the photograph he had taken from the UEO file on his father. It was the only one he had of his mother, the only one he had ever even seen. In it, she lay on her back on a beach, her head turned to one side, lifeless eyes staring into the camera. Even in death she was beautiful. Lucas felt a slow ache begin in his heart. He thought he had hardened himself against this long ago, but this picture... and then hearing that voice...  
  
He lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn't heard his mother's voice for weeks now. Instead, he knew now that the voice he heard was Kristen Westphalen's. He didn't know how it came to be there, nor did he know whether he was happy to have the voice of the living replace that of the dead, or sad to have lost the only part of his mother he had ever had. He wondered if he would speak to her again. He wondered what the truth about his parents' death was. He felt lost, groping in the darkness with nothing to guide him, no certainty about the future for the first time in his life. No plan. Well, make one then, Wolenczak, said Braithwaite's voice in his head. You're a smart man. You could escape without too much trouble.  
  
Yeah, and what then? Lucas thought back. Go back to the Free Nations? How do I know they didn't murder my parents?  
  
Jeez, they've really got to you, haven't they soldier? Braithwaite answered sarcastically. You mean to tell me you're going to stay here because of some woman who sounds like your mom? Give me a break.  
  
Lucas didn't answer. For this one day at least, he wanted just to be. No past, no future. Escape could wait.  
  
For now.  
  
  
  
Although the tour was only a few weeks in, Krieg's poker nights were already infamous. Regular attendees included Robert, O'Neill, Ortiz and Crocker; even Hitchcock had been known to play, and although gambling was officially banned in the UEO navy, Bridger turned a blind eye. He understood the importance of social life to the crew's morale, and besides, he had been known to indulge in a little poker himself. Tonight the atmosphere in Krieg's quarters was tenser than usual however: Robert had succeeded in getting permission from Commander Ford for Lucas to attend the game.  
  
O'Neill and Ortiz had arrived early, and were seated at the table picking at the chips that Ben had paid an arm and a leg for. O'Neill's face was pale; he had only come because Ortiz forced him to. He continually glanced at the door.  
  
"Hey, relax, would ya?" Krieg said, exasperated. "He's not going to attack you."  
  
"Remind me why we're doing this again?" O'Neill asked.  
  
"He's a good kid!" Krieg said shaking his head.  
  
"How would you know?" Ortiz asked. "You said he hardly said two words to you the other day."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's important to Robert, OK?" Krieg shrugged. "Anyway, I think we should give the kid a chance. He's just shy."  
  
"Just cold-blooded, more like," muttered O'Neill.  
  
At that moment, Robert led his strange procession into the room. Lucas was dressed identically to the time that Krieg had met him before, down to the accessories: handcuffs and an armed escort. Krieg raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Is that really necessary?" he asked, nodding at the cuffs.  
  
"Captain's orders," said Robert, with a trace of bitterness.  
  
The two men sat down at the table. "Lucas, this is Tim and Miguel," Robert said, gesturing to each man in turn. Ortiz smiled broadly. O'Neill was seated opposite Lucas, and he seemed to shrink under the young man's gaze, and started to sweat. He looked away, then stared fixedly at the table.  
  
Krieg ignored him. "Have you played before?" he asked Lucas.  
  
The young man looked serious, and seemed to be thinking. After a pause, he said "I think I can remember the rules."  
  
A wicked grin spread across Krieg's face. This he hadn't bargained for. The kid was a beginner! Trying not to look too happy, he dealt the cards.  
  
"Do you need any help?" asked Robert.  
  
"No, I think I'll be OK," said Lucas, frowning. "But I don't have any money," he added as the other men threw notes into the centre of the table. For a moment, an awkward silence descended. Then Robert smiled.  
  
"I'll lend you some," he said.  
  
Everyone stared at him. Then Lucas nodded, his face unreadable. "Thank you," he said gravely.  
  
"How are you going to pay it back if you lose?" asked O'Neill, curiosity getting the better of him. Lucas turned to look at him and he quailed.  
  
"I'll find a way."  
  
  
  
Some time later, Krieg grinned as he drew the pile of notes towards him from the centre of the table. In truth, Ortiz was his only worthy opponent: O'Neill didn't take big risks and Robert played enthusiastically but with little skill: you could practically read the cards on the young man's open face. As for Lucas, well, the kid was trying but he made too many mistakes. It was like taking candy from a baby.  
  
He saw Lucas shoot an apologetic glance at Robert, and felt suddenly chagrined. "Hey, we can play for matchsticks if you guys want," he said generously.  
  
All around the table jaws dropped. Benjamin Krieg, offering to play for matchsticks when he was winning? It was almost unheard of. But Robert shook his head firmly. "This is fine," he said.  
  
Krieg shrugged, and began to deal, making up his mind to buy his young friend a few drinks next time they were on shore leave.  
  
  
  
Two hours later, Krieg was staring disconsolately at the empty table in front of him where a pile of money had so recently lain. "You hustled me," he said accusingly.  
  
Lucas stared back at him. "I don't know what you mean," he said innocently.  
  
"You said you hadn't played before!" Krieg wailed.  
  
"No, I said I thought I could remember the rules." Lucas shrugged, folding up his stack of notes. "I can't help what you heard."  
  
"Come on, guys, help me out here," Krieg said, looking hopefully round the table. Three grinning faces met his gaze.  
  
"I never thought I'd see the day when Ben Krieg got conned," Ortiz said, his smile so wide his face looked like it might split in two. "Way to go Lucas." Even O'Neill had forgotten to be nervous, he was enjoying himself so much.  
  
Krieg frowned. "How do I know you weren't cheating?" he demanded. Lucas raised one eyebrow, then nodded his head in the direction of the security guard.  
  
"Ask him," he said laconically. "He can see my cards."  
  
Krieg looked up at the security guard. The big man shook his head, looking as though he was trying not to laugh. Krieg's shoulders sagged. "Man!" he said hopelessly. He turned to Robert. "That's the last time I let you bring your friends along."  
  
Ortiz grinned. "I'm afraid it's too late for that Ben," he said, clapping Lucas on the back. "I for one am looking forward to watching my man Lucas kick your ass again next week." It was clear from the faces of the others seated round the table – and even from the face of the security guard – that they agreed wholeheartedly with Ortiz's sentiment. It even seemed for a moment as if Lucas himself might smile. Krieg saw a look of triumph flit across Robert's face, and under his chagrin he felt a tiny warm glow. Man, this morale-raising business is expensive, he thought ruefully.  
  
  
  
"How's that technology coming along?" Braithwaite asked, turning to Simpson. The communications officer, now also the most skilled technician on the boat, smiled and gave a thumbs-up.  
  
"Runs like a dream," she said. "This Pacific South-West stuff is excellent hardware. Some of their components are barely used!"  
  
Braithwaite nodded, satisfied. "Will we be able to cannibalise it for a new stealth system?"  
  
Simpson nodded. "The components are compatible with what we've already got, but we need a few more items."  
  
"That should be easy enough. Everyone knows the drill now." There were general nods of agreement around the bridge, but Simpson frowned suddenly, putting her hand to her earpiece.  
  
"Captain," she said, looking up with a grim expression. "Kymark Colony has fallen to the UEO."  
  
There was a moment's silence on the bridge. Then Braithwaite straightened up. "Any more information, Lieutenant?" he asked gruffly.  
  
Simpson was listening intently to her earpiece. "The fighting was pretty fierce... some areas of the colony are completely destroyed... heavy civilian casualties are feared..." She trailed off.  
  
Braithwaite closed his eyes for a second. "Damn the UEO," he muttered, clenching his fists. Then he raised his head and looked round the bridge at his senior staff. Their faces were pale, expressions grim and sad. "Bellingham," he said to his XO, "are there any areas of our border with the UEO we can work with?"  
  
The commander thought for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, sir," he said. "It'll take a couple of weeks to set up, but I know a place."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Well," he said with a bitter smile, "the UEO seem pretty determined to join our little party. I say we invite them in." 


	14. Chapter 14

I don't own seaQuest or any of the characters. Goddamn it!  
  
And the academy award for best reviewer goes to.... Diena, PhoenixTears80, ano, KatKnits, Zoe, lo, Pheniox-Skye, sara and pari106! It's the first nine- person tie in the history of the oscars! Congratulations!  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 14  
  
Lucas found himself humming as he scribbled numbers sitting on his bed in the brig. He found his mind splitting in two, half concentrating on the columns of sums, the other half listening in surprise to the odd noise he was making. It was somewhat tuneless, but recognisably similar to a piece Robert had played on his violin a few days back while visiting Lucas. The instrument had come up in conversation after Robert had asked Lucas how it felt when he was designing his inventions, and after he compared it to his own feeling when playing the violin, Lucas had to admit that he had never heard one played. He knew what they were, of course. In theory. So much of his experience existed in theory only....  
  
But how did he know about your inventions?  
  
Lucas tried to suppress Braithwaite's voice in his head. After all, he hadn't /told/ Robert about his skill with machines. But he hadn't been able to explain away the drawings that Robert had found one day in his quarters – in the brig he reminded himself – designs for a machine to translate the dolphin's sounds into human speech. He had been thinking about it ever since Robert had told him about the creature's ability to understand hand signals, and after requesting a pencil and pad of paper he had gone feverishly to work. It had just been something to keep his mind occupied at first, but after Robert had found the sketches and pages of – to him – incomprehensible computer code and equations, and begged for days to be allowed to take them to Hitchcock to see if they worked, he finally relented. After all, he reasoned, it wasn't exactly something that could be used for military purposes, was it? He even felt a little embarrassed at designing such a frivolous machine. But Robert seemed to be excited about it, and that was reward enough for Lucas.  
  
After that Hitchcock had come to see him a couple of times to discuss the plans; he wasn't allowed to use the computers himself, of course, and so he had to explain carefully to her how to put each step into action. The design was still far from complete, but he knew it was getting there, and he found himself being infected by Robert's enthusiasm. Why? he thought. What could a dolphin possibly have to say to us? But he was excited nonetheless.  
  
Hitchcock wasn't his only new visitor, either. Since that first poker night Krieg had been coming to see him frequently, and on days when Robert's duty prevented him from escorting Lucas on his trips outside the brig, Krieg would take over. Lucas liked the garrulous lieutenant; his endless chatter made him feel wanted.  
  
Westphalen came too. The first time she had come out of pity, of that Lucas was sure. But she soon discovered his quick mind, and their mutual appreciation of science gave birth to many long and complex discussions. Lucas never tired of listening to her talk. The picture of his mother was stowed beneath his pillow, but when he closed his eyes to imagine her he no longer saw those staring, dead eyes, but Westphalen's warm brown ones.  
  
The visits of the crew to the brig, along with his new invention, kept him occupied during the long hours when he was confined. He was only allowed out in the boat for an hour a day, and although Lucas was sure that Robert had begged and pleaded many times, Commander Ford would not budge on this issue. Once, the Commander himself had come to see him, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and dislike. He had asked him about the Free Nations cloaking device. Lucas, seated once more in the interrogation room where he had not been since the day Robert visited him in the middle of the night, had remained silent.  
  
"Don't you understand?" Ford had asked. "We're not your enemies. Haven't we proved that to you?"  
  
Lucas had looked around at his surroundings – the bleak, gunmetal grey walls, the orange jumpsuit, the ever present guard. "I don't know, Commander," he had said in a low voice. "This still looks a lot like a prison to me."  
  
That was what he had said. But in reality, he had to remind himself daily that he was still a prisoner. He felt easier and freer than he had for as long as he could remember. He had no duties, and was able to spend all his free time designing his new machine – his vocorder. That was when he wasn't spending time with one or other of his small group of acquaintances. People didn't stare as much anymore when he walked down the corridors. There were still whispers behind his back, but he had grown so used to them that he hardly heard them anymore. He knew that some members of the senior crew distrusted and even disliked him. It was fairly clear that he still terrified O'Neill, and Ortiz, though friendly enough, didn't go out of his way to spend time with him. But he was content with what he had. He felt that this must be what peacetime was like: the carrot that had been held before him all his life: win this war and there will be peace.  
  
Wolenczak, you must be pretty screwed up. Only you could live in a cell on the enemy's flagship in the middle of a war zone and call it peace.  
  
All the same, it had been a while since he had thought about escaping. His life before seemed incomprehensibly bleak. He couldn't imagine why he would want to go back there. And, more importantly, if he ever thought of escape the first image that appeared in his head was that of Robert's disappointed face.  
  
This won't go on for ever, you know. Soon you will have to make a choice: either tell them about the stealth system, or get thrown into a proper jail.  
  
But if he told them about the system, they would let him go. And then what? What could he do, out there in the world, a murderer in his own confederation and a traitor in his adopted one? No-one would accept him. Hell, he wouldn't even accept himself. It didn't really matter to him who had killed his parents any more – governments were all as bad as each other. It was individuals who counted. He had no doubt that, should he fall into the hands of the UEO's security division he could expect nothing less than torture: nothing less than what he had expected when he had come aboard seaQuest, in fact. But he had been lucky. He had happened upon individuals who did not follow their government quite as blindly as some. He would not be lucky again. And although he could betray his government at a moment's notice, he could not betray the individuals it represented: Braithwaite, Simpson, Halloran, all his old colleagues aboard the Freedom, all the good men and women he had ever met in the Alliance of Free Nations.  
  
And so, as always, he came back to the inevitable ending of this charade: one day, maybe tomorrow, they would take him away from all this and force the truth from him, unless he could escape. And then, there would be nothing left to live for.  
  
But for today, at least, he would enjoy this semblance of happiness.  
  
  
  
Bridger had a very odd feeling, as though, like some latter-day Rip van Winkle, he had woken up one morning to find that everything had changed. He overheard his senior staff mentioning the name "Lucas" more and more frequently in their conversations. Ortiz was short of money because "Lucas" had beaten him at poker. A week before, Hitchcock had come to him for permission to construct a machine based on a design that "Lucas" had created, to communicate with /his/ dolphin. Bridger had even seen the mysterious "Lucas" himself, from a distance, stalking the corridors of the ship in his bright orange outfit with security guard in tow. Funny, thought Bridger, this Lucas guy looks a hell of a lot like the man who tried to kill us all a few weeks back. And still hasn't done anything to prove he wouldn't do it again at a moment's notice.  
  
These new tendencies were pretty worrying. Bridger had no doubt that the kid was smarter than he was letting on, and the designs for the dolphin machine had reminded him acutely that the prisoner was probably just as capable of manipulating the ship's systems as he was its crew. Not that the machine worked, and Bridger didn't believe it ever would, but all the same the kid was obviously no slouch in the brains department. At first he had allowed himself to be persuaded that, given the young man's age and his parentage, a policy of making him feel safe would bring the swiftest results. But all he saw was his crew fraternizing en masse with the enemy, being drawn in by him, letting down their guard, and none more so than his own son. And the kid still showed no signs of giving up the stealth technology.  
  
How can I protect my crew, my son, from an enemy who seems to be their friend? he wondered. Sometimes he would wake at night sweating, seeing Robert's pale face with a gun pressed to his jaw. He tried to tell himself that his fear was irrational, that the crew were all grown adults. But he was responsible for them. And he couldn't let anything like that happen again.  
  
Watching Robert become more confident in his post had been a gratifying experience for Bridger. God, the boy reminded him of Carol. One day he had looked around while on the bridge and seen Robert laughing with Ortiz about something, and the resemblance had taken his breath away, until he found himself sinking into his seat, unable to stand. He missed her so much. The burden of guilt he felt for the way she had died – alone, with only Robert for company – seemed to grow with every passing day. All the more reason he had to keep Robert safe now.  
  
The boy's duties were too light; they weren't keeping him occupied, Bridger decided. That was why he had become so attached to this Wolenczak. Well, he knew a way that he could change that and allow the boy to take on a little more responsibility in one fell swoop. He smiled to himself as he put together his plan. Carol, our boy's going to be fine, he thought, raising his eyes towards the roof, and beyond it, far above the great weight of water that pressed down on them, the sky.  
  
  
  
Bridger and Ford sat in the Ward Room. The XO had become a vital sounding- board for his captain since the beginning of the tour. Bridger appreciated the man's sound judgement and cool head in a crisis. Besides that, he was in charge of the prisoner's daily routine, so Bridger felt it only polite to discuss his plan with him first. "Have you spoken to our uninvited guest recently?" he asked.  
  
Ford nodded. "Last week, as you requested."  
  
"And how did he seem?"  
  
Ford looked confused for a moment. "I don't follow, sir."  
  
"It's a simple enough question," Bridger said. "Did he seem to you like a helpless child?"  
  
Ford shook his head. "No, sir," he said firmly.  
  
"Then how did he seem, commander?"  
  
Ford thought for a moment, then sighed. "Every inch the soldier, sir."  
  
Bridger nodded. "I appreciate your honesty, Jonathan. I know you don't like him."  
  
"It's not that I don't like him sir, I don't even know him," Ford replied. "I just find it hard to trust him."  
  
"Well, we could do with a few more like you round here," Bridger said grimly. "The rest of the crew seems to be demonstrating a... lack of caution in that area. I'm thinking of discontinuing his visits outside the brig."  
  
Ford looked up. "Sir, I understand what you're saying, but do you really think that's a good idea?"  
  
Bridger shook his head. "I will not have my people seeing him as their friend, Jonathan! It's too dangerous."  
  
"I understand that, sir, but I think it might be too late," said Ford. "Cutting him off now might just gain him sympathy among the crew."  
  
"Then what do you suggest?" asked Bridger. He knew Ford well enough by now to know that the commander had something in mind.  
  
Ford thought for a moment, his hands steepled in front of him. Then he said, "Restrict him to leaving the brig during ship's daytime only. No more poker nights. And restrict the areas of the ship that he has access too – keep him out of the mess and the crew quarters. It'll be harder for him to have social access to the crew."  
  
Bridger nodded slowly. "Well, we can certainly try that," he said.  
  
Ford stood up to go, but turned when he reached the door. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"  
  
"Granted," Bridger said, somewhat surprised.  
  
"I understand that you don't trust this guy. Hell, I don't trust him myself. But I can't help thinking that Robert may be right: maybe getting him to trust /us/ is the way forward. He /is/ a UEO citizen, after all."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "I can't take that risk, Jonathan. This is a warship, not a kindergarten."  
  
Jonathan dropped his gaze. "I know, sir," he said. "But Robert's going to be disappointed."  
  
"Don't worry," said Bridger, smiling in anticipation, "I'll give him something to keep him occupied." 


	15. Chapter 15

Maybe I should buy seaQuest... or maybe I'll just have to keep writing disclaimers. Yeah, that'd be cheaper. OK, seaQuest and its characters are not mine.  
  
Dah-da-da-daaah! da-da-da-da-da-dah-da-da-dah-dah-dah-dah-da-da-dah-dah-dah- dah-da-da-daaaah! Dah-dah-dah-daaah (dah-da-da-daaah) dah-dah-dah-daaah (dah-da-da-daaah) dah-dah-dah-daaaaaah! 20th Century Refur presents: the Reviewers! A film starring lo, sara, kas7, Pheniox-Skye, Mar, pari106, Diena and Zoe. Based on a true story.  
  
Sigh...OK guys, I know you hate Bridger, but I'm afraid it's too late to change him now, and he's in this chapter quite a lot, so grit your teeth....  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 15  
  
"How dare he?!" Robert paced the floor of the narrow cell, gesticulating wildly. Lucas sat quietly on the bed and watched him.  
  
"He thinks he can just run everyone's lives! How could he do this to you? What did you ever do to him?"  
  
Robert reached the wall, turned, and glared angrily at Lucas. Lucas met his gaze coolly.  
  
"I tried to steal his boat. I tried to kill his crew. I took his only child hostage," he counted off.  
  
"That was different!" Robert exploded. "That was before! Things are different now!"  
  
Lucas didn't drop his gaze. "If I were him," he said calmly, "I would never have let me out in the first place."  
  
Robert shook his head. "You don't mean that."  
  
"Yes, I do." Lucas' voice betrayed no emotion. "Your father is a soldier, Robert. He doesn't see me as a poor little orphan who's had a difficult life. He sees me as an enemy combatant, highly trained and capable of anything. And he's right."  
  
"How can you say that?" Robert cried angrily. "You wouldn't do anything to endanger this boat!"  
  
"If it wasn't for that bullet, we would all be dead, and this boat would be in the hands of the Alliance of Free Nations."  
  
"But that was before! You're UEO now! You wouldn't do anything like that now?" Robert's voice was almost plaintive. Lucas didn't answer; his face was like stone.  
  
"But you're my friend," Robert almost whispered. Lucas shrugged.  
  
"Friendship is just a word. War is the only reality."  
  
For a moment Robert stood, speechless. Then his face twisted in rage. "You're wrong, and my father's wrong," he said bitterly. "But he's not going to get away with it that easily." And with that, he stormed out of the cell, slamming the door shut with a clang.  
  
Lucas watched him go, then closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly. He knew what the captain wanted. He understood. And he could deal with it, could deal with being separated from the crew, from Robert, if it meant a few more precious days before the choice came. What he had said to Robert was half true: war was the only reality, and he had been hiding from reality for too long, living this charmed life. Now reality had brought him back down to earth with a crunch.  
  
So this is it, he thought. Soon it will be time. Time to choose: pain and death, or shame and emptiness. Maybe all four. For only the second time in his life, he could see no way out. And, as before, when he had sat in a ventilation shaft waiting for the air to run out, he knew that all he could do was resign himself to his fate, and be grateful that he had survived as long as he had. But if he could stave off the final moment for a few more days, then he would.  
  
But when the choice finally came, it was not how he had expected it.  
  
  
  
Bridger stood up when he heard the furious knocking on his door, and drew a deep breath. Time for the storm. Just don't alienate the boy, he thought. He knew that Robert could grow to hate him over this issue, and he couldn't bear that thought. I'm doing this for your own good, Robbie, he thought sadly. I just wish you could see that.  
  
Robert blew in like a hurricane, eyes flashing. Before he could even open his mouth, Bridger raised a hand.  
  
"I'm glad you're here, Robert. There's something I want to discuss with you."  
  
Robert didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, well, there's something I want to talk to you about as well," he said, and before Bridger could interrupt, he was in full flow. Bridger listened patiently as Robert accused him of everything under the sun. With every word from the boy's mouth his heart grew heavier. How did I come to be such a stranger to my own son? he wondered. Having him on seaQuest was supposed to bring us together. Instead, it seems we've never been so far apart. Well, it was time to change that. He would win his son back.  
  
"I understand that you're fond of this man, but I am still the captain of this boat and he is still my prisoner. I am not going to negotiate the terms of his confinement with you." Robert opened his mouth, two spots of high colour showing on his cheekbones, but Bridger raised his hand again. "You've said your piece, now let me say mine. It occurs to me that you have too much free time on your hands. We're on our way to an abandoned uranium mine the UEO wants to reactivate. I want you to lead the mission."  
  
Robert's mouth dropped open and his eyes grew round. Bridger knew that, for now at least, he had won.  
  
  
  
The next day, Robert did not come. Lucas had expected that he would not, and yet he found himself waiting for that soft knock on the door, found himself feeling forgotten and disappointed. You've let yourself get too close to him, to all of them. He knew it was true. He shouldn't have let his emotions lead him. Now it was going to be even harder to let go.  
  
He didn't have the energy even to work on the vocorder design. Instead, he spent most of the day lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the long minutes ticked by. When night finally came, he couldn't sleep. Once more he had the feeling of a giant hammer poised above, ready to come crashing down.  
  
But the day after, Robert came. He breezed in cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. Lucas stared at him, concentrating through force of habit on keeping his confusion from showing on his face. He responded as normal when Robert chattered away to him about events on the boat, and it wasn't until they were at the moon pool, just as Lucas was screwing himself up to ask what the hell was going on, that Robert turned to him, grinning.  
  
"Guess what?" he said.  
  
Lucas was in no mood for games. He raised an eyebrow. Robert's grin grew wider.  
  
"I'm going to lead a mission," he said happily.  
  
Lucas frowned. "What mission?" he asked, surprised.  
  
"There's this old uranium mine that the UEO wants to reactivate. I'm going to lead the mission to claim the territory it's on."  
  
Lucas' frown deepened. "Who does the territory belong to now?" he asked, suspiciously.  
  
Robert grin faded slightly, and he looked a little embarrassed. "The Free Nations. But," he added quickly, "they've abandoned it. There's been no sign of life in the area for weeks."  
  
Lucas had looked up sharply when he heard the name of his confederation. Now he shook his head vehemently. "Don't go," he said.  
  
Robert stared at him, surprised by the emotion in his tone. "What are you talking about? It'll be a piece of cake."  
  
Lucas looked Robert straight in the eyes. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Robert. Don't go."  
  
Robert was no longer smiling. He looked angry now. "Are you afraid you'll finally have to treat me as an equal?" he asked softly.  
  
"What?" Now it was Lucas' turn to be surprised.  
  
"Oh, come on! I'm almost ten years older than you Lucas! You think you're this great soldier, but you're just a child. What gives you the right to tell me not to go on this mission? You don't want to have to respect me?"  
  
Lucas stared at him, and his eyes grew cold and hard. "You haven't listened to a word I've said to you, have you?" he said, his voice dangerously soft. "War isn't about respect. It isn't about glory, or triumph, or victory. It's about death. Whether it comes quickly or slow and painful, down in the dirt, that's all war is. Death. It's time you grew up and realised that."  
  
Robert looked like he'd been slapped. His face grew mutinous. "Oh yeah? How come you're still alive then?"  
  
"I've been lucky," Lucas said simply. "I should have died a hundred times by now."  
  
"That's right!" Robert's voice was rising now. A lab technician looked up in surprise on the other side of the room. "You've had hundreds of chances to prove yourself. You don't know what it's like, having your dad breathing down your neck the whole time."  
  
I wish I did, Lucas though, but he let that one slide. "Robert, listen! It's not about proving yourself. I've survived this long because I'm a good soldier, but..." he wished he could have bitten off his tongue. The look on Robert's face made him feel like the lowest creature on earth.  
  
"Are you saying I'm not a good soldier?" Robert asked quietly.  
  
Lucas closed his eyes. Great move, Wolenczak, that's really going to make him want to give up the mission, he though. But another voice, deeper inside him, said quietly, no, Robert. You're not a soldier at all. You're a good man, and that's a thousand times better.  
  
But he didn't say anything. He couldn't think of any words to save the situation. And long after Robert had left, having escorted him in stony silence back to the cell, he lay on his bed and replayed the scene bitterly in his head.  
  
Well, he thought, if Bridger wants to alienate me from Robert, he couldn't have picked a better way. Damn them both! They were as stubborn and ignorant as each other, but at least Robert had an excuse: he was young, inexperienced. But how could Bridger send his only son out like this? Well, Lucas wasn't going to give up that easily.  
  
  
  
Bridger raised his hand to knock at the door, and then stopped. What the hell are you doing? he asked himself. This is the brig, not crew quarters. If you can't tell the difference, no wonder everyone else is having trouble.  
  
He opened the door without knocking. The prisoner stood to attention on the other side of the room. He didn't salute – Bridger had taken the precaution of having him handcuffed before he arrived. Bridger examined him from a safe distance. His son had spoken of him having changed, having become friendly towards the UEO. He couldn't see any change. The young man stood, his face devoid of emotion, back straight, eyes looking firmly forward. As Ford had said: every inch the soldier.  
  
"Commander Wolenczak," he said evenly.  
  
"Sir," the man replied.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" Bridger asked.  
  
"That's right, sir."  
  
"Well?" Bridger raised an eyebrow expectantly.  
  
"Sir, I respectfully request that you assign me to the mission to take the uranium mine."  
  
Bridger didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. His eyebrows reached for the sky.  
  
"What?! What the hell makes you think I would assign you to any mission, let alone one into your old confederation?"  
  
If anything, the Wolenczak kid became even stiffer. "With respect, sir, I have a great deal more combat experience than the officer you have assigned to lead the mission, and I know Free Nations strategy."  
  
"This is not a combat mission, Commander," Bridger said. Jeez, I can't believe you're even arguing with this guy. "Lieutenant Bridger has enough experience for this mission, otherwise I would have assigned another member of my own senior crew. Your assistance is not required."  
  
"I know the Alliance of Free Nations, sir. They don't abandon territory."  
  
Bridger stepped closer, until he was face to face with the young man. "You know very little of the circumstances in this case, Commander. You are not a member of this crew. I am the captain, and my decision is final. As for you," he looked the other man up and down searchingly, "can you honestly say that you would suffer no conflict of interests in this mission?"  
  
Wolenczak's gaze, previously directed dead ahead, shifted to Bridger's face. Their eyes locked. "Even if I said yes, you wouldn't believe me," he said softly.  
  
"What makes you think that?" asked Bridger.  
  
Without speaking, the young man raised his chained hands. 


	16. Chapter 16

I love seaQuest. But it's not mine.  
  
Bizarre-shaped balloon animals for all my kind reviewers, Jan, Mar, pari106, ano, PhoenixTears80, Pheniox-Skye and sara.  
  
Jan: thanks for the idea, I already had it planned out, but I always appreciate tips : ) ano: how could I forget you? I hope you're feeling better now  
  
This one's a bit short. Sorry about that, guys...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 16  
  
Braithwaite was woken by the beeping of his com. He sat up and activated the link. Simpson's voice came through.  
  
"Sir, a UEO vessel is approaching the mine."  
  
Braithwaite was on the bridge in minutes. "Range," he called to Halloran. The sensor chief looked up.  
  
"Forty klicks, sir."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Size?"  
  
Halloran's face twisted in a grim smile. "It's the seaQuest, sir."  
  
Braithwaite felt a smile of his own creeping onto his features. "So, they sent their best man," he said speculatively. "Time for a rematch."  
  
  
  
"Shuttle MR-5, you are clear for launch."  
  
Robert Bridger grinned as he flicked on the ignition. In the seat next to him, the pretty young ensign, Romero, looked nervous. It was her first mission. Robert smiled at her.  
  
"Don't worry, Ensign. This is going to be a walk in the park."  
  
He fired the thrusters and piloted the shuttle carefully out of seaQuest, as he had done hundreds of times before. Only this time it wasn't a drill: this time it was a real mission, and he was in charge.  
  
He remembered Lucas' words, and for a moment his smile faded. Well, he would show him. He would show everyone. Once this mission was over, they would realise that he was a good soldier.  
  
"Ensign," he said to his co-pilot, "in a few hours the UEO will have enough uranium to make us all glow in the dark for years."  
  
The young ensign smiled.  
  
  
  
Lucas sat by the side of the moon pool, rubbing Darwin's chin distractedly. The dolphins whistled and chattered. Lucas was almost glad the vocorder prototype still wasn't working. He didn't feel like talking.  
  
A soft voice behind him startled him, though through force of habit he suppressed the emotion from his features. He turned and saw Dr. Westphalen. She smiled at him. "Without your constant companion today, I see."  
  
Lucas looked up in surprise at the security guard. No, he was still there. He had been allowed to come out without further escort today by Ford; he wondered if the guy felt sorry for him.  
  
"I meant Robert," Westphalen said. Lucas sighed.  
  
"He's on a mission."  
  
"I know," the doctor said kindly. "I heard that you had a fight about it."  
  
Lucas didn't speak. He looked back down at Darwin.  
  
Westphalen sat down by the side of the pool. "This is an odd situation, isn't it," she said reflectively. "You've barely known each other two months, and yet you're closer than many old friends. The really odd thing is," she looked at him pointedly, "that although he's so much older than you, you feel responsible for him."  
  
Lucas' mouth twitched slightly.  
  
"You have to let him try to prove himself," Westphalen continued. "I know, I know," she said when Lucas looked up sharply, "it's not about proving oneself. But it is for him. He's young, little more than a boy, really. He doesn't know what you know. But the only way he can learn is by finding out for himself."  
  
Lucas shook his head. "This is not a game. What if he gets hurt?"  
  
Westphalen smiled gently. "You know, this really is a simple mission," she said. "You don't think the captain would have sent him out there alone if it was dangerous, do you?" Lucas looked at her, unconvinced.  
  
"I tell you what," the doctor said, "I'll tune my PAL to the bridge frequency. Then we'll be able to hear how things are going."  
  
Lucas shook his head. "The captain won't allow it," he said tonelessly.  
  
Westphalen grinned mischievously. "Well, I won't tell him if you won't," she said conspiratorially, and was rewarded with a look of gratitude.  
  
  
  
"Sir, they've launched a shuttle," Halloran said from his console. Braithwaite looked up.  
  
"Range?"  
  
"500 metres."  
  
"Weapons?"  
  
Halloran checked his console. "Looks like it's pretty lightly armed. They're not even running in stealth mode."  
  
Braithwaite shook his head. "Overconfident," he muttered. "They won't make that mistake again."  
  
  
  
"Shuttle MR-5, you are cleared for docking at port 3," O'Neill said sounding slightly bored. Still, he reflected, bored was better than being in the middle of a dogfight. Last week he had been sure that they'd had it. But then, he was sure he was going to die about twice a day these days. He wished he were a little less timid, like Ortiz or Robert.  
  
"Roger that. Preparing to dock," came Robert's voice, slightly crackly with static. There was a faint clank in the background, and a female voice could be heard saying "What was that?"  
  
Hitchcock frowned slightly. "MR-5, please advise on your status."  
  
"Sounds like something just hit us," Robert said. "Doesn't seem to have done any damage though."  
  
Hitchcock nodded, satisfied. But then, a moment later, Robert's voice came again. "SeaQuest, this is MR-5. We're losing thrust, over."  
  
Bridger looked up at Ortiz. The sensor chief nodded. "It's true. Deceleration at," he checked his console, "35 metres a second."  
  
"MR-5, check to see if you have a fuel leak," Hitchcock said calmly.  
  
There was a pause, then Robert's voice came back. "That's a negative. Fuel tanks are intact. Thrusters are at full, but we're still slowing down." There was a worried note in his voice.  
  
Ortiz looked up. "Deceleration at 75 metres a second," he said, "and they're losing altitude."  
  
"Range to ocean floor," Bridger said tensely.  
  
"200 metres."  
  
"Speed?"  
  
Ortiz looked at his readouts. "It'll be quite a bump, but shouldn't do any damage to the shuttle."  
  
Bridger nodded. "MR-5, switch to emergency power."  
  
Static. Then, "It's not having any effect. It's like something's dragging us down." The worry had turned to panic.  
  
Bridger leaned forward over the console. "Stay calm, Lieutenant. Brace for impact."  
  
"100 metres," said Ortiz.  
  
"Bracing."  
  
Then, there was static. Ortiz looked up sharply. "Captain," he said. "The shuttle's disappeared!"  
  
Bridger stared at him. "What do you mean, disappeared?"  
  
Ortiz shook his head, staring at his console. "Like it was never there," he said. 


	17. Chapter 17

Blah, blah, blah, you know this bit already (see chapters 1-16)  
  
Vos amo más que nunca: PhoenixTears80, Pheniox-Skye, sara, ano, kas7, pari106, Mar, Zoe, Nerene.  
  
Another short one...  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 17  
  
When the choice came, it was not how he had expected it.  
  
Lucas was running almost before Ortiz's words had finished coming over the PAL. He was out of the moon pool and halfway down the corridor by the time his security guard, who had come to the conclusion that his duty was something of a joke, had realised what was going on. When he heard the sound of heavy feet pounding the metal deck behind him, he swerved sharply into another corridor. It didn't fool the guard.  
  
Up ahead, he saw Lieutenant Krieg turn in surprise at the sound of running footsteps. "Hey Lucas," the older man said with a smile. "Where's the fire?"  
  
But Lucas was already past him, and all he said was "Help me, Ben. I've got to save Robert."  
  
Krieg stared after him in astonishment, then turned again as he heard more thundering feet. He saw the security guard barrelling towards him and made a split-second decision. He stuck out his foot.  
  
Lucas heard the crash behind him and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the loyalty and quick thinking of Benjamin Krieg.  
  
  
  
"No answer, sir," O'Neill said, shaking his head. The atmosphere on the bridge was tense. Bridger was clutching the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.  
  
"Where the hell are they?" he muttered.  
  
At that moment the bridge door began to close. Bridger turned in surprise. Just before the door finished closing, an orange blur came hurtling through it, rolling as it hit the ground and straightening up into the shape of a running man. A moment later a crewman was sprawling on the deck, and Lucas was typing rapidly at a computer console.  
  
So, this is finally it, is it? Bridger thought, with a feeling of impending doom.   
  
Lucas was typing almost faster than he could think, trying desperately to remember the codes for the stealth system he had designed, when he felt someone grab him from behind. He reacted without thinking: using his chained hands as a club, he whirled around. His assailant dropped like a stone. Before he had hit the deck, Lucas was typing again.  
  
It wasn't long before he was attacked once more. This time there was more than one. He fought tooth and nail, but found himself borne to the ground. His hands were uncuffed and recuffed behind him. Strong arms grabbed his elbows and pulled them back, hard. A knee ground into the small of his back. He was pulled into a half-crouching position, pinned, unable to move.  
  
At that moment, the vidscreen was activated, and Lucas found himself staring into a face he never thought he would see again.  
  
  
  
A flicker of surprise crossed Braithwaite's face. "Commander Wolenczak," he said evenly.  
  
Lucas composed his own features into a mask that mirrored his captain's. "Sir."  
  
Captain Bridger stepped in front of the vidscreen. "And you are?" he asked, calmly.  
  
"Captain Braithwaite, of the Alliance of Free Nations vessel Freedom."  
  
Bridger nodded. "You have something of mine."  
  
"That's right," Braithwaite said. He looked off-screen and gestured. A moment later, Robert's face appeared on the screen beside Braithwaite's. He looked pale, and although he was trying to remain calm, there was fear in his eyes.  
  
Bridger straightened up. "Return my crew and my shuttle, and surrender your vessel," he said.  
  
Braithwaite smiled. "Ah, of course. UEO captains are all the same. You think you can take what you want without even fighting for it. Well, I'm afraid, Captain, that it will not be so easy this time."  
  
Bridger's expression was cold. "What do you want?" he asked.  
  
"It seems the situation is somewhat different from what I imagined," Braithwaite said, calmly. "I had been going to request that you desist from invading our colonies, and return those that you have subjugated since the beginning of this war. However," he continued as Bridger raised his eyebrows, "I see now that a simple exchange of hostages may be in order. You give me Wolenczak, I give you this one."  
  
Lucas felt the knee press further into his back. He suppressed a grunt of pain.  
  
Bridger thought for a moment. "What about the other hostages?"  
  
"Fair's fair, Captain. A life for a life. The others will stay with me, to deter the UEO from... reprisals."  
  
There was a moment's silence, then Bridger nodded. "Terms accepted."  
  
Lucas saw Robert's face twist. "No," the young man said. Braithwaite looked at him in surprise. "Don't give him back to them," Robert said.  
  
Lucas closed his eyes. Don't be a hero Robert, he thought. And for God's sake, don't tell them who you are.  
  
But it was too late. "Dad, you can't do this," Robert said pleadingly. The surprise on Braithwaite's face intensified.  
  
"So," said the captain, "I see I have misunderstood the situation once again." He gestured again, and a moment later someone off-screen handed him a pulse rifle. He thrust it against Robert's jaw.  
  
"Surrender the seaQuest, captain," he said calmly, "or your son dies."  
  
As if in reprisal for the ill-treatment of Robert, Lucas found himself being thrust to the ground. His face was crushed against the cold metal deck, a heavy weight pinned his shoulders, and he felt a rifle butt being pressed against the back of his head. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard Robert say something, yelling, a scuffle. Christ, Robert, this is no way to prove yourself, he thought desperately.  
  
There was a gunshot.  
  
Then there was an impact on the back of his head, a sharp pain, and he sank into darkness. 


	18. Chapter 18

I do not own the seaQuest or its characters, and am making no money with this story. I do not have any rights to the poetry of Wilfred Owen.  
  
Heartfelt appreciation to ano, bbclarky, Diena, dolphinology, Fiona, Fishface12, Jan, Jen, kas7, Katknits, Kiddo, liz, lo, Mar, Nerene, pari106, Pheniox-Skye, PhoenixTears80, sara, Teresa, Zoe and anyone who reviews this chapter. You are kind and generous people to give up your time to review this fic, and to stick with me, whether you reviewed once or 18 times. It's been real, guys.  
  
I've added the poem that inspired the title of this fic onto the end of this chapter – you'll have to scroll down a little, I didn't want to make it look like a continuation of the story. Hope you enjoy it.  
  
  
  
Pro Patria Mori  
  
Chapter 18  
  
The old man sat on the verandah watching the sun sinking towards the ocean. The sunset was going to be glorious: already the clouds were lined with fire, and a river of gold marked a path across the dancing water from the beach to the edge of the world. But to the man, everything was grey.  
  
He heard the sound of a motor humming, somewhere further along the shore. There was no television on the island; the only contact with the outside world was an antique two-way radio. So he had no way of knowing if it was a rival confederation coming to claim the land, or the UEO again, coming for the hundredth time to try and persuade him to captain their boat again. He didn't know why they came; if he wasn't even capable of protecting a defenceless young man, he didn't think much of his chances with a whole confederation.  
  
It had been almost six months now. Six long months. Sometimes it seemed to the man that the moments of his life stretched out before him, endless and empty. The everyday functions of life were not enough to fill them. Sleep, when it came, was barely a relief; the faces he saw in his dreams made waking life all the more painful.  
  
The sound of footsteps on the wooden decking brought him out of his reverie. He looked up to see a familiar figure, down to the bright orange jumpsuit. He was surprised: after the memorial service, Ford had asked him to use his influence to stop them imprisoning the Wolenczak kid. Apparently he had been trying to disable the stealth system; he had almost managed it too, before he was dragged from the computers. So, Ford had said. He chose us. And Bridger had tried, truly he had. But he had been so tired, too tired to even tie his own shoelaces, let alone win a battle with the might of UEO bureaucracy. That had been the same day that he had left for the island, leaving his shattered life behind him.  
  
"So," he said calmly. "They let you out."  
  
The young man took this as an invitation to sit down.  
  
"I kind of escaped," he said.  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows, glancing at the boy out of the corner of his eyes. "From a maximum security prison?"  
  
Lucas' face remained impassive. "You give them too much credit, Captain."  
  
There was silence for a while. Then Bridger, still looking out to sea, said, "Why did you come here?"  
  
"I wanted to request a posting on board seaQuest," the young man said, matter-of-factly.  
  
Bridger shook his head. Still full of surprises. "Why would you want that?"  
  
Lucas didn't look at him. "Where else am I going to go?" he asked softly.  
  
Bridger sighed. "Firstly, I don't think the UEO would be too keen to have an escaped POW as a crew member aboard their flagship. Secondly, it may have escaped your notice, but I am no longer captain of the seaQuest."  
  
Lucas didn't speak for a moment. Then he said, "You know, they never asked me for my name. They weren't interested in that. And I never gave it."  
  
"What are you saying?" Bridger asked.  
  
"It would be simple enough," Lucas said. "Just tell them you found the long- lost son of Lawrence and Cynthia Wolenczak, and he turned out to be good with computers. So you took him on."  
  
Bridger frowned. "They didn't do a DNA test?"  
  
"Again, Captain, too much credit."  
  
Bridger sighed again. "Well, you still haven't solved the second problem," he said heavily.  
  
For a while, neither man spoke. Far out to sea, a bird was wheeling, diving and soaring in the air. A gentle breeze stirred the ragged vegetation that fringed the verandah. It seemed to Bridger as though the two of them were alone at the end of the world, watching the last day die in splendour before the coming of endless night. Then Lucas turned to look at him. His eyes, normally so emotionless, were filled with grief.  
  
"Robert was a good man," he said. "He loved you very much."  
  
Bridger felt a lump rise in his throat. "I wasn't much of a father to him," he said huskily.  
  
"You did what you thought was right," Lucas replied simply, and turned to look once more out to sea.  
  
For a moment, Bridger was silent, struggling with the crushing weight that seemed to be pressing down on his lungs. He didn't trust his voice. He felt an insect bite the back of his hand, but he didn't move to brush it off.  
  
"He was very fond of you as well," he said finally. "I didn't want it to be true, but it was. I think," he stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. "I think he always regretted the fact that he was an only child."  
  
Lucas closed his eyes briefly, and then nodded in acknowledgement. Silence fell once more.  
  
The two men sat side by side, staring out to sea as the day went down into the west, together and yet alone in their grief. For a brief, perfect moment, as they fell, their tears reflected the glory of the setting sun.  
  
Then they shattered on the ground, and were gone.  
  
THE END

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**Wilfred Owen **

**Dulce Et Decorum Est**

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,  
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,  
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs  
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.  
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots  
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;  
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots  
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.  
  
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,  
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;  
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling  
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--  
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light  
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.  
  
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,  
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.  
  
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace  
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,  
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,  
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;  
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood  
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,  
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud  
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--  
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest  
To children ardent for some desperate glory,  
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori.

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**Glossary**

Dulce et Decorum est

_It is sweet and proper_

Pro Patria Mori

_To die for one's country_


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